


The Distance

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Ned died at Tower of Joy, and to ensure the loyalty of the North, Robert ordered Stannis to marry Catelyn and appointed him Warden of the North and Lord Protector of Winterfell until Robb comes of age.</p><p>Chapter 10: A Life Borrowed</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marriage Plans

The men in her life had always made her wait. “Look out for me, little Cat. I will be back,” her father had promised. “I will be back soon, my lady, and we will be wed,” Brandon had pledged. “We will be reunited at Winterfell soon,” Ned had assured her, in his last letter.

Her father was the only one who had kept his words. Not Brandon, not even Ned. Catelyn reproached herself for that disloyal thought. _Gods be good, Brandon and Ned would have come back if they could._

She lit candles and prayed for both of them, and for their sister and father too. She prayed for Benjen Stark as well, the last of that family now.

_No, not the last, my Robb is a Stark too._

She could not wait for uncle and nephew to finally meet.

_And I am Lady Stark._

At least for a little while longer. Until -

_“Why not Benjen?”_ Catelyn had asked her father. _“He is a Stark. Surely that would be more fitting.”_

“ _He’s only a boy_ ,” her father’s voice echoed in her head. “ _King Robert needs a strong Lord Protector, until Robb comes of age and can rule Winterfell and the North on his own._ ”

“Cat. Sweetling.” It was her father’s voice, but not in her head this time. How long had he been there? Catelyn had not noticed him walking in. The sept was empty but for the two of them.

“Are you praying for guidance?” Her father asked, his hand resting on her shoulder. She longed to rest her head on _his_ shoulder, to lay down her fears and her worries for a moment, just a moment.  But her father looked weary, and years older than he did at the start of the war. The war had taken its toll on Hoster Tully.

“I’m praying for Ned and his family,” she replied. “And … for courage,” she continued, unable to meet her father’s gaze.

He raised up her chin gently, to look her in the eyes. “You have never lacked courage, my child. Never.”

Catelyn smiled gratefully. Yet deep down she wondered; she really wondered. She had always done her duty, true, but was there courage in that?

“What is worrying you, sweetling? Our journey tomorrow?” Hoster Tully was going to King’s Landing with his two daughters and his grandson. Lysa would be reuniting with her lord husband, and Catelyn was to meet the man who would be her new husband.

She chose her next words carefully. “We would be two outsiders, two southerners in Winterfell.”

“Aye, aye,” her father nodded.

“Ned never had the chance to bring his bride home. They have never seen me as Lady Stark, and yet I will be coming to Winterfell with my new husband, the southerner who will rule Winterfell until Robb comes of age.” She hesitated. “Wouldn’t it be better for the Lord Protector to be a man of the North? The northmen might take to that more readily, Father.”

Her father smiled, a broad and proud smile. “Sharp and astute as always, Cat. That’s what I told Jon Arryn as well.”

She waited for her father to continue, which he did with a frown on his face. “Jon made some good points in opposition to that. The main difficulty according to Jon is, which northman? Which of the lords of the north, and from which House? It will end up causing dissension and envy amongst various Houses in the North. Better to have a complete outsider altogether, someone with no power base of his own in the North, someone who will not cause trouble for Robb later when it’s finally time for him to give up the rein to Robb.”

_Someone whose loyalty to the king is assured_ , Catelyn added silently. Who better than the king’s own brother?

“You will learn the way of the North, I’m sure. Both of you,” her father said, with a confidence she did not really share. “This is all for Robb’s sake, Cat. Remember that.”

“I know, Father,” she replied gently. She had always done her duty to her father, now she would do her duty to her son as well. That night, she fell asleep sitting on the chair next to Robb’s crib.

_He’s ours, Ned. Mine and yours. We made him, together, that first night._ She dreamt of telling her husband this, but the somber, solemn stranger she had never really known disappeared into the mist, and then it was Brandon’s laughter she heard. She ran after them both, frantic, but never caught up with either. Lysa’s hand shaking her shoulder vigorously finally woke Catelyn.

“We are leaving,” her sister said, her voice shaky. Lysa had been full of excitement about finally seeing King’s Landing at first, but as the day of their departure neared, her excitement had seemed to cool, even souring. Catelyn thought she knew why, but she did not know how to broach the subject with her sister. Lysa had grown more guarded and more reticent, even with Catelyn, since her wedding to Jon Arryn. And sadder. Infinitely sadder. Her laughter rang so seldom at Riverrun these days, Catelyn had almost forgotten the sound of it.

It was Lord Arryn who greeted them when they arrived at King’s Landing, with a tall, gaunt stranger standing next to him. The stranger’s eyes - deep blue pools carved into a face so fleshless and cheeks so hollow it looked like a death mask instead of the face of a living man - were studying each of the Tullys intently, as if he was trying to memorize not only their features, but also their entire reason for _being_. Even Robb, sleeping soundly and peacefully in Catelyn’s arms, did not escape his intent scrutiny.

“This is Stannis Baratheon, Lord Tully. King Robert’s younger brother,” Jon Arryn made the introduction.

“Hoster, please. We are family now, Jon,” Hoster Tully said to the son-in-law twenty years older than himself.

“My lord husband,” Lysa curtsied, and blushed. Jon Arryn’s face reddened as well, as if he had only just remembered how young the woman he had married was. “My lady,” he said awkwardly, and then was at a loss for words. It was Stannis who took charge, telling them of their accommodation.

Catelyn panicked. “Would it be possible for me to stay with my sister at Tower of the Hand instead?” She asked, directing her plea to Lord Arryn.

Stannis frowned, and replied before Jon Arryn could. “The king has commanded that the bride and the bride’s lord father shall be housed inside Maegor’s Holdfast until the wedding,” he said.

_The king. The bride. The wedding_. He said those words as if they held no personal connection to him whatsoever. Never mind that “the king” was his brother, “the bride” was the woman he would soon wed, and “the wedding” was his own.

Jon Arryn interjected swiftly. “There’s no harm in it. Lysa will need help settling in, I’m sure Robert will understand.” And so the matter was settled.

“He is so very plain,” Lysa whispered to Catelyn later, as they toured Lysa’s new home. “Stannis Baratheon.”

_This is your home, Lysa. You are the mistress here, Lady Arryn. Why are you whispering?_ Catelyn did not say this to her sister however, for fear of hurting her feelings.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said instead. Truly, she had not. She was much older now, in experience if not in years, compared to that childish girl who had felt a slight disappointment at the sight of Brandon’s younger brother. Ned Stark was not the younger version of his dead brother that Catelyn had expected; he was shorter, plainer, more somber, with none of Brandon’s mirth and glee. Or rage.

_But Ned was a good man. And he would have been a good husband and a good father, if Arthur Dayne’s sword had not cut him down before his time._

“They are saying it is a punishment, for letting the Targaryen prince and princess escape from Dragonstone,” Lysa’s voice was even softer this time. Catelyn was shocked out of her reverie.

“A punishment? What punishment? Who is being punished?”

“Lord Stannis,” Lysa said. “Banished to the frozen wasteland of the North instead of being appointed lord of Storm’s End. The youngest brother will have Storm’s End now, a mere _child_.”

“The North is not a frozen wasteland,” Catelyn protested vehemently. It was Ned’s home, and Brandon too. And Robb would rule over that land someday. Another thought struck her. “I suppose … marrying me is a punishment too?” A widow instead of a maiden. A woman raising the child of another man. How else would Stannis Baratheon see it except as a punishment?

Lysa looked horrified. “No, of course not. I never meant … and anyway, it is only the servants gossiping.”

Catelyn sighed. “You must not encourage them, Lysa. You are the mistress of this household, you will not have their respect by being too familiar with them.”

Lysa sulked. “I was only trying to be friendly. You will leave soon. Father too.”

And Lysa would be left with her elderly husband, older than her own father. Catelyn was anxious for her sister. She smoothed over Lysa’s hair with her fingers, like she often did when they were young. “You _will_ be happy, won’t you, Lysa?”

Lysa looked like she was about to weep, her upper lip trembling and her eyes glistening. But the moment passed. She embraced Catelyn tightly and said, “Of course I will. King’s Landing is wonderful! More than I could ever hope for.” It did not escape Catelyn’s notice that Lysa had not mentioned her husband. “And in any case, it’s _you_ I’m worried about. The stories I’ve heard about Lord Stannis … they do not bode well, dearest sister,” Lysa continued.

Catelyn thought of her sister’s warning the next day as she made her way to the king’s solar. “The king commands that you are to bring Lord Eddard’s son with you, Lady Stark,” the squire sent to fetch her had said.

_My son as well,_ Catelyn thought _._ But Robert Baratheon would not see it that way, she knew. Ned was the one who mattered to the king, not Catelyn.

Robb was finally sound asleep after a long, restless night, and Catelyn was loathed to wake him. But she did not dare make the king wait, so she picked him up carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. Robb stayed asleep the whole journey from Tower of the Hand to the king’s solar - even the noise of the men-at-arms practicing in the courtyard failed to wake him. But the king’s voice berating his brother finally roused the babe.

“Seven hells, Stannis! Why do always have to defy me?”

Catelyn was trying to soothe Robb and stop his cries. The three men in the room – the king, his brother, and his Hand – had not noticed her presence as yet.

“I am not defying you,” Stannis’ voice was not as loud as his brother, but sounded just as angry. “Merely pointing out that so soon after spending a fortune on _your_ wedding, the crown could ill-afford to pay for _another_ lavish wedding.”

“It’s _your_ wedding. My brother. The king’s brother,” Robert replied, fury stamped all over his face.

“Exactly. _My_ wedding. And I do not want a lavish wedding, with wasteful spending,” Stannis said, his jaw grinding from side to side.

“It is also Catelyn Stark’s wedding. Ned’s widow. I owe it to Ned to honor her,” Robert said, his voice softer this time, with a melancholic edge.

“Lady Stark has been married before. She is not a maiden in need of a grand wedding,” Stannis retorted disdainfully.

Jon Arryn cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should consult Lady Stark on the matter?” He said, his gaze directed to Catelyn, who was still standing near the door.

“Come in, come in!” Robert greeted her enthusiastically. His attention swiftly moved to Robb, still fussing in Catelyn’s arms. Robert stared at the babe so intently Catelyn thought his eyes would bore holes in Robb. “May I?” He finally asked, holding out his arms. Catelyn hesitated, but noticed Jon Arryn nodding slightly through the corner of her eye. She passed Robb to Robert’s waiting arms, staying close in case –

“I won’t drop him. Don’t worry,” Robert said, laughing and winking at her. In that moment, he reminded Catelyn of Brandon, even though the two men looked nothing alike. But Robert’s laugh swiftly turned to tears, as he spoke to Robb as if the babe could understand him. “Your father … he … he was the happiest man alive when he heard of your birth. _I can’t wait to hold my son in my arms_ , he told me. You must grow up knowing your father, child, and what a good man he was.” Robert’s voice broke. He sniffled, cleared his throat, and said, “He was the best brother any man could ever have.”

Stannis was in Catelyn’s sight, and she saw how his shoulders stiffened when Robert mentioned brother. But he turned his face away before Catelyn could see his expression. Robb started crying, and Robert quickly handed him back to Catelyn.

“We were arguing about the wedding,” Robert said, after Catelyn had managed to soothe Robb.

“Discussing,” Jon Arryn interjected.

Robert ignored him. “My brother seems to think the Great Sept of Baelor too grand for the occasion. Even a feast for six hundred guests is too much, according to Stannis. What say you, Lady Stark?”

Great Sept of Baelor? Six hundred guests? For a widow with child? Stannis probably thought it excessive. Catelyn replied, careful of her words, recalling all she had heard of Robert Baratheon. “I would defer to your good judgment, Your Grace.”

Robert smiled. “No wonder Ned spoke so highly of you. Well, it’s settled then,” Robert announced.

Stannis was about to protest, when Jon Arryn interjected again. “The poor babe seems very sleepy. Perhaps you would escort Lady Stark and her son back to Tower of the Hand, Stannis?”

“The guards can do that,” Stannis replied. “I have another important matter to discuss with Robert.”

“The Others take your _important_ matter!” Robert exploded. “I have heard enough from you today.”

Was the rumor true, after all? That it was meant as a punishment for Stannis? Catelyn’s father had put in a more complimentary term - the need for a strong lord to rule Winterfell and the North until Robb comes of age – but watching the interaction between the Baratheon brothers had sown doubts in Catelyn’s mind.

She stole a glance to the man walking next to her, who was staring straight ahead as if he was walking alone. _We are to be married, in less than a week_. And she did not know the first thing about him, except that he seemed furious. With his brother? With her? With the prospect of their marriage?

He coughed suddenly, a loud, hacking cough that shook his entire body.

“Have you been ill, my lord?” She asked solicitously.

“No,” was his terse reply, and continued walking as if naught had happened.

Catelyn took in his hollow cheeks, his pale face, his gaunt frame and fleshless body, and finally remembered. _Of course._ The siege at Storm’s End that had lasted almost a year. “ _They were down to rat bones at one point,_ ” Ned had written her, on his way to Tower of Joy after he had lifted the siege.

_On his way to his death._ No, she would not think of that.

She should say something to Stannis, she thought. But what? _I’m sorry you and your people almost starved to death?_ All the words she could think of seemed trite and pointless, so in the end she said nothing.

Stannis was the one to speak. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The words were blurted out as if he was trying to get rid of them as fast as possible. Catelyn turned to look at him, too surprised to reply.

“Thank you,” she said, at last. He nodded stiffly and quickened his pace.

 


	2. Two Weddings and a Bedding

The last time Catelyn was wed, her sister Lysa was standing next to her, clad in the same trout-embroidered maiden cloak as Catelyn herself had been. Hoster Tully had removed the maiden cloaks from his two daughters - Catelyn first and then Lysa - with a satisfied smile on his face.

This time, Catelyn was alone. There was no maiden cloak for her father to remove; she was no longer a maiden. And the husband Lysa had wed at that double wedding was still alive, unlike Catelyn’s husband.

Ned had looked somber and solemn at their wedding, but he had not looked irritated, the way Stannis was looking today. Catelyn had promised herself that she would not compare the two men. Certainly not out loud, and not even in her heart, where no one could hear her. That would be a surefire way of making a bad start of her marriage to Stannis, she knew. But Stannis Baratheon was not making it easy for her to keep that promise.

He was frowning as he waited for her to make her way to the altar. He scowled as the High Septon recited the vows, as if impatient for the wedding to be over. He was looking not at Catelyn, but at a point somewhere behind her head when he draped the bridal cloak embroidered with crowned stags over her.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.” He said ‘ _kiss_ ’ in a tone so disgusted and  ‘ _love_ ’ in a tone so skeptical that even the ever-so-dutiful Catelyn felt like rebelling. Deep down she was shouting - _I am worth something! You will be Lord Protector of the North because you married me. There are plenty of men who would be glad and grateful for that opportunity._ But Catelyn was Hoster Tully’s oldest daughter and she was always mindful of her duty, so she smiled and pretended that she had not noticed anything amiss with Stannis’ conduct.

His breath smelled of lemon, and his lips tasted salty; those were the only things Catelyn remembered about their kiss. It was over so quickly some of the guests gasped, and some even snickered. Catelyn recalled one of the stories Lysa had passed on to her – Lysa was making it her mission to collect any tidbits about Stannis Baratheon. “They say he doesn’t drink at all, not wine, not beer, not any kind of spirit. He drinks only water. Water with a pinch of salt added, and sometimes lemon water,” Lysa had told Catelyn.

Most of the guests at the wedding feast were unknown to Catelyn. Her father had not brought a large party with them from Riverrun, expecting the wedding to be only a small affair. She noticed quite a few Lannisters, clad in crimson and gold and their lion sigil. The queen’s family. The queen’s twin brother, splendid in his Kingsguard attire, was also present, his eyes almost never straying from his sister. Her father had had designs on him for Lysa, Catelyn recalled. But Jaime Lannister had chosen the Kingsguard instead.

The king seemed to be having a good time, laughing, trading jokes and clapping everyone’s back. Perhaps too good a time, Catelyn thought later, as he grew progressively more and more drunk, his speech slurring, his laughter growing louder and louder, his jokes getting meaner and more obnoxious. Stannis was at the receiving end of most of the king’s “jokes”, some of them so lewd and bawdy Catelyn almost blushed. She glanced at her new husband to see how he was reacting. He was grinding his teeth so loudly Catelyn thought the entire hall must have heard him. But he bit his lower lip when he noticed Catelyn looking at him, and the teeth grinding ceased almost at once.

Not for the first time, she wondered how it was that Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark had been the best of friends. They seemed so different, so completely opposite in so many ways. Yet Robert’s grief for Ned’s death, as she saw it when Ned’s son was presented to him, had seemed sincere and deep-seated. Even deeper than her own grief, Catelyn thought, feeling shameful.

_They grew up together, Robert and Ned. I never even met Ned until the day we were wed._

As the king’s voice grew louder and louder and more out of control, and Stannis’ face grew redder and redder and more furious, Jon Arryn quickly stepped in before anything unfortunate could happen. “Perhaps it is time for you and Lady Baratheon to retire to your bedchamber, Stannis?”

Lady Baratheon. She would have to get used to that name now.

There was to be no bedding ceremony, no ritual stripping of the bride and the groom for them to be carried naked to their bedchamber. “Lady Stark is a mother, she deserves to be accorded more respect and dignity _,_ ” Jon Arryn had told the king. Stannis had agreed readily, and with more enthusiasm than Catelyn had ever seen from him; more for his own sake than for hers, Catelyn suspected. He did not seem like a man who would enjoy being stripped naked by various women and paraded without a stitch on while people shouted lewd and bawdy words around him.

The king had balked, at first. “Cersei and I had to go through it at our wedding, and we are the king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Why should Stannis be exempted? Merely because he’s the biggest prude in the realm?”

“It is for Lady Stark’s sake,” Jon Arryn insisted. “She is the mother of Eddard’s only son, his heir.”

The mention of Ned Stark had decided the matter for the king, who agreed without further protest.

But Catelyn was Lady Stark no longer. She was Lady Baratheon now, and her husband was calling for her.

“My lady,” Stannis said stiffly, holding out his hand to his wife. To Catelyn’s surprise, he was actually looking her in the eyes this time. She took his hand and stood up, and they walked out of the hall together, hand-in-hand. She was conscious of every pair of eyes in the hall watching them, her ears attuned to every whisper, every titter, every snicker. Stannis, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to everything, striding purposely like he was on an unstoppable mission.

It was only when they finally reached the door to the room that had been assigned as their bedchamber for the wedding night that he suddenly seemed to falter. He hesitated before opening the door, and his hand fumbled trying to turn the doorknob. Catelyn waited patiently, saying nothing. She was used to waiting.

Her mind was hard at work, however. Wondering, speculating. Could it be that he was actually … _nervous_? That first glimmer of human emotion other than anger and irritation from Stannis reassured Catelyn, in some small way. And it distracted Catelyn from her own anxiety and unease, at least for a little while.

_Stop it! You are not a blushing maiden. You have done this before_ , she scolded her fretting self.

But that was with another man, an altogether gentler man, in a room that had been her own bedchamber since the day she had her first moon blood and the septa had told her father it was time for Catelyn to sleep in her own room, instead of sharing with Lysa. This room, the room she and Stannis were in now, was as strange to her as the man standing in front of her was. The bed was heavily scattered with rose petals, crimson red and pure white. Scented candles were burning on all four corners of the room. She could smell lavender, as well as a strong citrusy scent. It was sensory overload, too much to take in all at once.

Stannis was looking around the room with horror. He moved quickly to the bed, his hands picking up the rose petals one by one, crushing them in his palm before putting them inside a basket that he had emptied of its previous content – grapes, peaches, and a jar of honey. Catelyn stared at the fruits and the honey jar, now lying precariously on the side table, with complete amazement. Who had been responsible for decorating the room? Did they envision the bride and the groom spending their time _eating,_ tonight of all night?

Stannis was still patiently gathering up the rose petals, to Catelyn’s surprise. She had half-expected him to sweep the petals off the bed in an impatient gesture to be rid of the offending items.

_No, that is not his way. He is careful and meticulous, even in his anger._ She was learning his way, bit by bit.

She walked to the other side of bed, opposite from where he was standing, and started picking up the rose petals too. The petals felt soft and very fragile in her hand, and she could not bear to crush them as Stannis was doing. Soon they had gathered every single petal. Wordlessly, he handed her the basket now filled to the brim with rose petals, as if he expected her to know what to do with it.

She was setting the basket down on the side table when she felt the room darkening. Stannis had blown out one candle, and was on his way to blow out another.

_Perhaps it will be easier, for both of us, if it is not so bright_ , she thought. But when he was about to blow out the fourth and last candle, Catelyn was less certain. Surely complete darkness would not be helpful either? Especially since both of them were still fully dressed.

“Maybe we should leave one candle burning,” she spoke up. “It will be too dark otherwise.”

Stannis looked like he was about to argue, but Catelyn quickly added, “I am not used to sleeping in complete darkness. There is always a small candle burning in my room. I’m afraid I am not as brave as you are, my lord.”

“Very well, my lady,” Stannis replied curtly, and left the last candle burning. It seemed to take him forever to make his way from where that last candle was back to the bed. Catelyn was sitting at the foot of the bed, expecting Stannis to sit next to her. Instead, he sat as close to the bedpost as he could, putting as much distance as possible between himself and Catelyn.

She cursed her relief at the decision not to have the bedding ritual this time. It had been strange and uncomfortable, even frightening and humiliating, but at least it meant that she and Ned were already completely naked by the time they entered their wedding chamber. Catelyn and Ned had been as much strangers to each other as she and Stannis were, but somehow instinct, and perhaps nature, had taken over that night, and neither of them had hesitated for long. They made Robb the same night she had given Ned her maidenhood.

And there had been no long and awkward silences with Ned, the way there were with Stannis right now.

“We should undress. Yes, that’s what we should do,” Stannis muttered, almost as if he was talking to himself. But she heard him just fine.

“Yes, we should,” Catelyn replied, trying to catch his eyes. He stood up abruptly and started undressing. Catelyn followed suit. As she was removing the last article of clothing, suddenly Catelyn began to feel ill at ease about a man seeing her naked body. She knew it had not been quite the same since giving birth to Robb. Her anxiety was further increased when she realized that Stannis, who had finished undressing before her, was staring at her. Not her face, or even her breasts, but further down.

It must be the stretch marks on her stomach he was so preoccupied with, Catelyn thought. Preoccupied, or perhaps even horrified, for his expression was hard to decipher. _That was for bringing another life into this world_ , she wanted to tell him, feeling defensive. But why should she have to explain anything? He knew who he was marrying, a woman who had given birth, not a maiden in the first blush of womanhood.

But as his eyes continued staring, Catelyn finally realized that Stannis was looking further down than her stomach. She followed his gaze and -

_Oh._

And then everything clicked and started to make sense to Catelyn.

_He has never been intimate with a woman before._

She would not ask him if this was indeed the case, of course, not in a million years. Catelyn was taught by her mother to always let the men lead. She had always abided by that rule, until now. An exception had to be made this time, she sensed, or her marriage with Stannis would not start off on the right footing.

How to lead him without making him feel like he’s being led - that was the problem. She was cracking her brain trying to think of something, when she realized that the awkward silence had gone on for too long. The fact that they were both now completely naked was somehow making the silence infinitely more awkward and uncomfortable.

“I must not be the young, comely maiden you deserve, my lord,” she said, to break the silence.

Immediately _he_ was the one on the defensive. “I am not that shallow, my lady,” he said, sounding almost offended. “And you _are_ young, not yet twenty.” 

_But not comely?_ She almost jested, to lessen the tension between them. But instinctively Catelyn knew that would have been the wrong thing to say. This was not a man who knew how to laugh at japes and jests.

He moved closer to where she was sitting, as if to prove a point. This time, he _was_ staring at the stretch marks on her stomach. Catelyn had to resist the urge to cover herself.

“Was it a difficult birth?” He asked her, after a while.

Catelyn was sighing deeply on the inside. Talking about the pain of childbirth was hardly the thing that would facilitate matters on their wedding night. But Stannis seemed genuinely curious. It was in fact the first time he had shown any real interest in her at all. So she gave him an honest answer.

“It was harder than I thought. Much harder,” she told him. And Catelyn had thought it plenty hard, she who had seen her mother dying in childbirth, trying to give Hoster Tully another son. But watching was one thing, going through it herself was completely another. “It was all worth it in the end, hearing Robb’s cries and holding him in my arms,” she continued.

“That’s what my mother said too,” Stannis volunteered, the first time he had told Catelyn anything without her asking him a question first. Catelyn was so shocked at the sudden revelation she was speechless for a long time. “It was a difficult birth. Renly. She was in labor for three days,” Stannis continued, without Catelyn prodding him for more. After that he must have felt as if he had said too much, for he abruptly turned his face away from her.

Catelyn tried another tack. “Should we try to get some sleep?” She asked Stannis.

“No!” He replied, swiftly and adamantly. He turned to face her once more. “It is our wedding night. We must … we must do our duty, no?”

_I’m doing my duty_ , she told herself, as she took his hand without warning, and placed it on her midsection. He was startled, and stared at her as if asking, _What are you doing_? She smiled. _Trust me_ , her eyes were telling him. Her hand guided his hand upwards, all the while her eyes never leaving his eyes. She stopped when his hand was finally touching her breast. There was an initial sharp intake of breath from him the moment his palm met her nipple, but miraculously, he seemed to know what to do just fine after that. Not instinctively, the way it was with Ned. Not from experience either, his touches and moves were too fumbling and uncertain for that. But as if he had diligently studied the steps from a book beforehand.

And yet, Catelyn thought, when she woke up the next morning, surely there was no book that could teach a man, or a woman, about that subject? Or was there?

Her husband was still sleeping, his arms crossed over his chest as if trying to ward off a blow from an invisible enemy. She looked at him now, _really_ looked at him for the first time, memorizing his features, the contours of his face, the tightly-drawn mouth, the perpetually frowning forehead, the thinning hair. A plain face, Lysa had said. Perhaps. Certainly plainer than his brother’s. But his eyes had been almost hypnotic, when Catelyn was staring at them for what seemed like an eternity last night. She was trying to recall their exact shade of blue – sky blue? Or was it more like the sea? – when those eyes suddenly opened, gazing at her intently. Her cheeks reddened and Catelyn quickly turned her face away.

“You are not a maiden,” he said. She was extremely confused. Had he been expecting that she _was_ one? Surely … surely he could not be _that_ naïve? It was not uncommon for wartime marriages to be unconsummated, but Robb was living proof that her marriage to Ned _had_ been consummated. And Stannis himself had asked Catelyn about giving birth just last night.

“No, I am not,” she replied simply, not knowing what else to say. Her tone must have struck him as strange, for he immediately said, “I was not expecting you to be one, of course. I know that you are not. You are a widow, that was my point.”

“My lord?” She still did not see what the point he was trying to make was.

“As a widow, you could have chosen a husband without having to ask for your father’s approval or permission. So why agree to this marriage?” He asked her.

So he _was_ naïve, just not in the way she had previously thought. _I can’t very well say no to the king, can I?_ She was not just _any_ widow, she was the widow of Ned Stark, who had been Lord of Winterfell and the king’s closest companion. She was also the mother of the boy who would be Lord of Winterfell someday. She never had any choice in the matter. “I have a duty to my king,” was all she told Stannis, however.

Stannis nodded. “And I have a duty to my brother,” he said.

“Have you always done your duty?” She felt moved to ask him, all of a sudden. _Was marrying me a duty too?_

He grimaced, as if the question was causing him great pain. “Yes,” he replied, gritting his teeth. “Haven’t you?” He turned the question back to her.

“Of course,” she replied, without any hesitation.

“Well, we both certainly did our duty last night,” he said.  It was only after he had dressed and left the room that she began to wonder. Had there been a slight smile on his face as he was saying those words? Or was that merely her imagination, or even worse, wishful thinking on her part?  

 


	3. Knights of Winter

A month’s journey through the Kingsroad, Stannis calculated. That was how long it would take them to travel from King’s Landing to Winterfell, if everything went smoothly and according to plan, which things seldom did, he knew from experience. He wondered about the child. Would he be able to withstand that long of a journey? Catelyn had taken the child with her from Riverrun to King’s Landing, but that was a much shorter, and much less perilous journey.

Grand Maester Pycelle had declared Robb Stark a healthy babe and foreseen no danger in subjecting the child to a full month on the road. Stannis distrusted the maester - a Lannister creature if ever there was one - and insisted that Maester Cressen took a look at the child as well. Cressen had concurred with Pycelle’s verdict, and the queen had shown her displeasure at Stannis’ visible doubts about Pycelle.

Stannis had been furious when Robert had first given the order to go up North, but now it would be a great relief to leave King’s Landing. The sight of Mace Tyrell sitting at the Small Council table as Master of Ships was the last straw for Stannis.

“Stannis.” Catelyn’s voice startled him from his bitter and heated contemplation.

“My lady,” Stannis replied. He still could not bring himself to call her by her name. _Catelyn_. Or worse, _Cat_. Both names felt peculiar on his tongue, like a word in a foreign language he had never spoken before.

“Ser Davos is here to see you.”

“Tell him to come in.” He paused. “Are you prepared for our journey, my lady?”

She smiled. “I have finished packing, yes.” The smiled faded. “I am not certain I am ready for our arrival, however,” she continued, looking nervous.

That was unexpected. Catelyn had seemed sure of everything, from the moment he first set eyes on her.

“I have never been to Winterfell. I’m not sure how they will receive me there,” Catelyn said.

“I don’t suppose the northerners would be rolling out the welcome mat for the southern husband you are bringing home,” Stannis replied.

Catelyn looked horrified. “That is not what I meant. I … I am a southerner as well, and …”

“Nevertheless, it _is_ true, is it not? About your new southern husband, to replace Ned Stark their beloved lord.” He searched her face carefully.

“Yes,” she nodded reluctantly.

“Well, we should both be prepared for a frosty reception at Winterfell then,” Stannis said with a finality that was supposed to tell her that the conversation was over, and she should leave him to speak to Davos. Instead, she started laughing. He stared at her, incredulous.

“What?” He asked his wife. _Wife_. He had a wife now. He was a _husband_. How mortifyingly strange that was.

She wiped the grin off her face when she saw that he was not amused. “A frosty reception. I thought you were making a jape of some sort.”

“A jape?” What did the woman take him for? “I do not waste my time on that sort of nonsense, my lady,” he told her firmly. Her face fell. “Forgive me, for misunderstanding, Stannis.”

Was he being too harsh? She had been very … understanding, that first night. “Let’s forget it,” he said stiffly now.

“Should I tell Ser Davos to come in?” Catelyn had moved on.

“Yes.”

It was a relief to see the onion knight, an honest face amidst all the snakes and vipers prowling the city. He had only known the one-time smuggler for a short time, but his instinct told him the man could be trusted. For now, at least. He would have to be on guard as always, as he was with everyone else.

“How is your land, Ser Davos? And your family?” Davos had come from Cape Wrath, where he was settling in his family on his new land, the land granted with his knighthood.

“Very well, my lord. Marya and the boys wish me to express their gratitude to you,” Davos replied.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Stannis wondered what they thought of Davos’ missing finger joints. His eyes wandered to the pouch the onion knight was wearing around his neck. Did Davos show his wife and sons the bones inside that pouch? Did he tell them of the man who brought the cleaver down on those fingers?

“And your wedding, my lord? Did everything go smoothly? I am sorry to have missed it.” Davos’ voice interrupted Stannis’ wandering mind.

“You shouldn’t be. Robert insisted on a grand ceremony and feast, with tiresome guests and tedious chatters,” Stannis scoffed. “You should be glad to have missed it, ser.”

When he was ridding the bed from the blasted rose petals on his wedding night, there _was_ a moment when Stannis _had_ wished for Davos’ presence. The man had been married for years, with four sons of his own. He must know quite a few things about the relation between a husband and a wife. There were certain … _issues_ that books and written words could not truly be of much help.

“My lord?”

Stannis felt his face flushing red. Davos was looking at him as if he suspected what had been on Stannis’ mind. _My blood would freeze before I would actually ask him, or anyone else, that question._

And in any case, there had been no need to ask anyone. Catelyn had shown him the way, without him having to ask. She did not lack experience either, the babe Robb Stark the living proof of that.

“We are leaving for Winterfell in three days,” Stannis said abruptly.

Davos nodded. “I am ready to leave on your order, sire.”

“Robert will be glad to be rid of me,” Stannis muttered.

“I’m sure His Grace would miss your presence and your counsel, my lord.”

“He will miss neither. Though with the snakes and vipers he’s surrounding himself with, he would have done well to have his flesh and blood by his side. But no, it is all about Ned Stark. ‘ _Ned’s son must be protected, his inheritance must be safeguarded_ ,’ Robert went on and on about that,”Stannis said bitterly.

“Lord Protector of the North is a great honor, and an even greater responsibility, sire,” Davos reminded him.

“I don’t care how big an honor it is!” Stannis exploded. “I never wanted it. I never asked for it. I only wanted what was mine. Storm’s End should have been mine, not Renly’s. That is the law.”

Davos kept silent, waiting.

“But I will do my duty, just like I did when Robert ordered me to hold Storm’s End at any cost. You came to our aid then, Ser Davos, with your onions and your salt fish. Will you do the same for me this time, but with your honest service and loyalty?”

“I am your man, sire. My sword is yours, now and forever. I will follow you wherever you lead, to Winterfell and beyond,” Davos replied on bended knee.

______________________________________________________________

Shouting. Catelyn had heard shouting and raises voices. No, _voice_ , actually. It was only her husband’s voice that had been raised in anger, not Ser Davos’. But surely Stannis was not shouting at Davos Seaworth of all people?

“My lady, I will take my leave now,” Ser Davos said to her. “My wife wanted me to convey our best wishes to you, my lady, for your wedding.”

Catelyn smiled. “Thank you, Ser Davos. And please convey my thanks to your lady wife as well. Are they here in King’s Landing, your wife and sons?”

“No, my lady, they are staying in Cape Wrath at the moment,” Davos replied, looking a bit troubled.

Catelyn hesitated. “Then … they will not be coming with us to Winterfell?”

Davos demurred. “No, my lady. Our land is in Cape Wrath. It is only a small keep, but someone has to keep an eye on it. And I could not bear to separate the boys from Marya, not when they are so young still.”

“It must be hard, being so far away from your family.”

“Aye, but I serve at Lord Stannis’ pleasure. And Marya and our boys are used to long separations by now. When I was a smuggler, I was gone for months at a time.” Davos spoke of his past without any shame, pride or bitterness. It was just the way things were, he seemed to be saying.

Catelyn found herself staring at the pouch hanging on Davos’ neck. She knew what was inside the pouch; Lysa had told her _that_ gossip about Stannis’ onion knight as well. “Why do you keep them, Ser Davos?” She asked him softly.

He knew without asking what she was referring to. “To remind me of Lord Stannis’ justice,” he replied, kindly but firmly.

“I heard that he did the deed himself.” The servant who had passed that piece of news to Lysa used that as proof of Stannis’ bloodthirst and violence.

“Aye, my lady. It was what I asked of him,” Davos replied.

Catelyn was surprised. This part of the story had not reached her before. “You did?”

“Aye, I did. I told Lord Stannis I would only submit to the punishment if he was the one to swing the cleaver himself.”

“Why?” Catelyn asked. Davos looked surprised, as if no one had ever asked him that question before. Surely Stannis had asked him the reason at the time? “Is it … a Northern thing?”

“The man who passed the punishment should swing the sword. Aye, I have heard of that,” Davos nodded. “I am a Flea Bottom man myself, born and raised, but that northern practice has always made sense to me. If you have other people to swing the sword for you, you might find it too easy to pass judgment on others, to punish with reckless disregard for human life.”

Catelyn nodded. This man would be a valuable ally for her and Stannis in the North. She was glad that he was coming with them to Winterfell, very glad indeed.

 


	4. Farewells

Bidding farewell to her sister Lysa turned out to be the hardest thing for Catelyn. Lysa wept and would not let Catelyn go from her tight embrace. “Jon is taking me to the Eyrie and leaving me there. The Eyrie needs its Lady while the Lord is away, he said. Oh Cat! What am I going to do in that strange place?” Lysa whispered as Catelyn hugged her for the last time.

Catelyn said whatever feeble words of comfort and reassurance she could give to her sister. She could hardly blame Lysa for looking entirely unconvinced and uncomforted; Catelyn herself found her own words shamefully wanting. She glanced at Lord Arryn, who was deep in conversation with Stannis, both of them looking grave and solemn. “ _Lysa would be happier at King’s Landing_ ,” she imagined telling her sister’s husband. “ _I beg you, my lord, for my sister’s sake,”_ she imagined pleading with him, this man who did not look cruel, who in fact looked almost kind.

But kind or not, Lord Arryn was still a lord husband. Lysa’s husband. “ _We women belong to our husbands when we marry. It is our duty to make a home for them, and for our children. A warm and comforting home._ ” Her mother had taught her that from an early age. Catelyn had taken that lesson to heart. When her mother died and Hoster Tully did not seem inclined to marry again, Catelyn had taken over her mother’s duties at Riverrrun without any complaint or reservation.

No, that was not entirely true. She had plenty of reservation, hesitation and doubt, but none she had ever voiced to anyone else. Catelyn kept her doubts to herself, always.

It was not her place to disagree with Lord Arryn about where Lysa’s place should be, just as it was not her place to disagree with her own husband. Her mother had taught her that; Mother who was always warm, kind and loving, and wanted only the best for her children. How could Mother be wrong? She couldn’t be, Catelyn reasoned.

“It will be fine, you’ll see,” Catelyn whispered to Lysa. “You will be a splendid Lady of the Eyrie, and make Jon a warm and comforting home.”

Much later, when Catelyn had found her voice and finally realized that doing your duty did not necessarily preclude speaking out for yourself and for your loved ones, as well as speaking out for what was right and just, she would regret not speaking out on her sister’s behalf that day. Perhaps she could have saved Lysa from a lot of heartache and misery.

“When will I see you again, Stannis?” It was a little boy’s voice, sulking and complaining, but strangely, also sounding demanding and authoritative at the same time. Renly Baratheon was younger than Catelyn’s own brother Edmure, but he looked like a boy who was used to getting his own way, who _expected_ to get his way, in fact.

_He is the Lord of Storm’s End_ , Catelyn thought. Her brother Edmure was heir to Riverrun, but Catelyn could not imagine Edmure ever speaking to his father or his sisters for that matter in that tone of voice.

“I don’t know,” Stannis replied brusquely to his little brother.

“Will you visit me at Storm’s End on my nameday?” Renly was asking Stannis, his eyes as big as saucers. He was still a little boy after all, Catelyn reminded herself. A little boy whose brother was leaving him to go to a land far, far away. Catelyn smiled at Renly. He stared at her for a long while, before smiling back. “Maybe Catelyn and her son would like to see Storm’s End. Would you like that, Catelyn?” Renly asked, smiling shyly.

“I would love –“ Catelyn started replying, but Stannis interrupted her. “ _Lady_ Catelyn, Renly. And going to Winterfell is not like taking a trip to the market. It would take more than two months to go from Winterfell to Storm’s End and back again. Lady Catelyn and I are not going to Winterfell for a holiday. We have important tasks to do. There is no time to be gallivanting to Storm’s End for a nameday celebration.”

“But it is _my_ nameday!” Renly cried out. “You’ve never missed my nameday. Robert has missed plenty, but not you, Stannis.”

Stannis looked away. “Things are different now. Very different. You best learn that, Renly,” he said, his eyes avoiding his brother and his wife.

Renly started crying. Edmure had cried too, when Catelyn and Lysa were leaving, but only when he thought he was alone and no one could see him. It took every ounce of self-control in her body to prevent Catelyn from running to her brother and embracing him, but somehow she managed to restrain herself. Edmure would not have liked it, Catelyn knew. He would have found it humiliating to be found crying by his sister.

Maester Cressen took the crying boy in his arms and tried to soothe him. Renly’s shoulders were still hitching up and down, and the tears were still rolling down his cheeks. Catelyn noticed the maester giving a meaningful glance to Stannis, nodding his head vehemently a few times. Stannis seemed determined to ignore the maester at first, shaking his head and frowning, but the maester’s insistence must have worn him out, finally. He walked closer to his little brother, knelt down so his face was level with Renly’s head and called out his name. Renly turned to look at him at once.

“You must listen to Maester Cressen from now on. Will you promise me that?”

Renly nodded. “I always listen to him,” he said, his tone almost peevish.

Stannis groaned. “No, you always _say_ that you will, but then do things as you like. That will not be good enough from now on. You are the Lord of Storm’s End, not a silly, sulking little boy.”

Renly looked down, refusing to meet his brother’s eyes. “Are you mad at me about Storm’s End? Is that why you are going far, far away and leaving me behind?” He muttered under his breath.

Catelyn did not miss the sound of her husband’s teeth grinding loudly. She imagined the entire Red Keep hearing it as well. Stannis stood up, sighed, and said,” No, Renly, it’s not _you_ I’m angry at. Going to Winterfell is Robert’s command, and therefore my duty.”

“Everything is ready, my lord,” the sound of Ser Davos’ voice was a relief to Catelyn.

Stannis turned to Catelyn and asked, “My lady, are you ready to leave?”

She was not ready, would never be ready in a hundred years. But they both had their duty to do, and Catelyn was not one to shirk her duty, no matter how terrifying she found the prospect. “I am, my lord,” she replied to her husband with a smile. Stannis escorted her to the carriage, where the nurse was already waiting inside with Robb. Catelyn took the baby from her, and scooted to the other side of the carriage to make room for Stannis.

“I will ride with Ser Davos,” Stannis said stiffly. Catelyn was startled, but managed to hide it. “Very well, my lord,” she replied. A crying child was perhaps not the best travel companion, Catelyn reasoned with herself. Robb was not a difficult or fussy babe, but who knew how the long journey might affect him. And Stannis probably had many, many things to discuss with Ser Davos before their arrival at Winterfell, Catelyn added another thing to the list of reasons why her husband would not want to ride in the same carriage as her and her son.

She kept adding more and more things to the list, until _finally_ she had the courage to admit to herself what she feared the most deep down – that Stannis resented having to be a father to another man’s child. And not just _any_ man, but Ned Stark. Ned Stark whom the king had often proclaimed as his favorite and most-loved brother, above and beyond his trueborn brothers. How would she feel, were she in Stannis’ position? _I would still love that child, for he is innocent of any wrongdoing_ , she tried to convince herself. But she wondered. She truly wondered if that was really possible, to separate and compartmentalize your feelings about the wrong done to you, and your feelings for the child.

If that indeed turned out to be the case, she would have to make it up to Robb, she vowed. Somehow, someway, she must find a way to protect him from Stannis’ resentment. She kissed her son’s forehead, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief that Robb looked more like a Tully than a Stark.

And was immediately stricken with feelings of guilt and remorse towards Robb’s dead father.

 


	5. Crannogman

Howland Reed arrived at Winterfell with not just the bones of Lyanna Stark and Ned Stark, but a wailing babe in his arms. He was met on arrival by Benjen and Maester Luwin, and he immediately asked to speak to Benjen alone. The maester made a gesture to leave, his eyes inspecting the now-quiet babe swaddled in thick blankets, its face barely visible.

“One of the kitchen maids has just given birth to a little girl not two days ago. She would have some milk to give your poor child. He -it is a boy, is it not? - must be hungry,” Luwin said. The maester had assumed that the babe was Howland’s, a bastard, perhaps, but then it was not his place to judge.

Would that be a wiser course? Howland wondered. To pretend that the child was his own, to bring him home to Greywater Watch and raise the boy as a crannogman. It might even be safer for the boy in the long run.

But that was not what Ned Stark had promised his sister the Lady Lyanna on her deathbed. “Promise me, Ned. Promise me you will raise him as your own son, and no one will ever know the truth of his parentage. Not even him.”

Howland understood her reasons. Robert Baratheon would not hesitate to kill the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. Rhaegar’s two children with Elia Martell had been cruelly slayed, along with their mother.

Ned Stark had promised. Had promised his sister while blood and life were leaking from his own chest, courtesy of Arthur Dayne’s sword. Dayne himself was already dead, Ned’s sword Ice buried on his neck. Howland Reed was surrounded by corpses, and a dying man determined still to keep his promise.

“Jon. The babe is to be named Jon, after Jon Arryn. Take him … take … Winterfell. My son …”

Ned Stark was silenced forever, just like his sister.

Jon started wailing. Snow. He would have to be Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark. Who was the mother? The people at Winterfell would want to know. Not a whore or a tavern wench, Howland decided, no one would believe that of Ned Stark. A village woman Ned Stark met during the war who died in childbirth. The woman had no family of her own, so poor Jon Snow was now an orphan with no one to care for him except his father’s family.

Benjen Stark would not ask too many questions, Howland believed. He was only fifteen, barely a man, and he had worshiped his brothers Brandon and Ned. He would be glad to care for Ned’s son, even a bastard. Lady Stark, on the other hand …

How would Lady Stark react to the presence of her dead husband’s bastard son at Winterfell? Might she not look on the boy resentfully, as a reminder of her husband’s infidelity? Or perhaps suspecting Jon Snow to be a danger to her own son’s inheritance? What kind of life was awaiting Jon Snow, with a resentful and suspicious Lady of Winterfell? Not a pleasant one, Howland feared.

Howland wondered why Ned Stark had not thought of these things when he made the promise to his sister.

_She was dying, and desperate. It would have been cruel for her brother to deny her last request. And Lord Stark himself_ _was gravely wounded at the time_ , Howland admonished himself. It was easy enough to quibble and second-guess a decision later, in the peace and comfort of non-desperation, but in Ned Stark’s place, Howland suspected he would have done the same thing.

He was making his way to Winterfell when he heard the news. Lady Stark was Lady Stark no more. She was Lady Baratheon now. The king had wed her to his own brother, so he could appoint the brother as Lord Protector of the North. A Baratheon at Winterfell. That could prove to be more dangerous to Jon Snow’s fate than a resentful stepmother. Stannis Baratheon was only one step away from Robert Baratheon, the greatest danger to Rhaegar Targaryen’s son.

And Stannis Baratheon was already saddled with Ned Stark’s trueborn son Robb Stark. How would he feel about raising yet another one of Ned Stark’s son, a bastard at that? Everything that Howland had heard about the man convinced him that Lord Stannis would not be graceful or glad at all, far from it.

Howland started to consider other paths. Could he possibly pass off Jon Snow as Brandon Stark’s bastard son? Lady Baratheon had been betrothed to Brandon Stark before his untimely death, but a betrothal was not the same as a marriage. And Brandon Stark had been notorious for his womanizing, unlike his brother Ned. It would come as no surprise to anyone that Brandon had fathered a bastard, or even a number of them.

But Brandon Stark had died more than a year ago, at the start of the rebellion. And a dead man could not father a child. Howland stared at the sleeping face of the babe. Was there any way to pass him off as an older babe, someone who could have been fathered by Brandon right before his death? But that would open up a lot of fronts for questioning and suspicion. How did Howland end up with Brandon Stark’s bastard? Howland Reed had fought alongside Ned Stark in the war, and had almost nothing to do with Brandon Stark at all.

Howland was still uncertain regarding the best course of action to take when he arrived at Winterfell. To his great relief, Lord and Lady Baratheon were still on their way to Winterfell from King’s Landing, so his explanation would only have to satisfy Benjen Stark.

“Take him to Winterfell as my son,” Ned Stark had said with his dying breath. Did that mean even Benjen Stark must not be told the truth about Jon Snow’s parentage? Howland tried to decide as Ned Stark would have decided, were he still alive. Ned would want to shield his brother from danger, Howland believed. Knowing the truth would put Benjen Stark in harm’s way. And he was the last of the Starks, along with his two nephews.

So Howland told Benjen the story Ned had wanted him to tell, embellished with details Ned had not had time to consider. Benjen’s expression was disbelieving at first. “Ned, bedding another woman after he was wed? He would never dishonor his marriage vows in that way. Never.”

“War does strange things to men, Benjen,” Howland replied. “And remember, your brother only met his lady wife once, at their wedding. He spent one night with her and then left to fight more battles. He never saw her again. It could be lonely for a man, on the road, seeing dead bodies all around you, contemplating your own mortality. It is not always a question of lust. A woman’s comfort … it is priceless. And it is not for other people to judge.”

Benjen’s face turned red, not in anger but embarrassment. “I am not judging my brother. How could I, when he died fighting to save our sister while I stayed here in the comfort and safety of Winterfell.”

“You were here on your brother’s order, on the order of the Lord of Winterfell to defend the north,” Howland said.

“But the war never came to the north.”

“It could have. And what was that saying – there must always be a Stark –“

“-in Winterfell,” Benjen continued.

“When are Lord and Lady Baratheon due to arrive?” Howland asked

“Lord Stannis and Lady Catelyn, they are to be called that, not Lord Baratheon and Lady Baratheon. Cat wrote that in her last letter to me before leaving King’s Landing,” Benjen replied.

Wise, very wise indeed, Howland thought. Why remind the northmen constantly that Winterfell was now ruled by a southern lord with his southern lady wife? Even if it was only temporary until Ned Stark’s heir came of age. And even if the southern lady wife was Ned Stark’s widow. Northmen were a proud and prickly bunch, suspicious of outsiders. Lord Stannis would have an uphill battle to climb.

Cat, Benjen had called his sister-in-law. Were they close? Perhaps Benjen could predict how Lady Catelyn would react upon finding her dead husband’s bastard at Winterfell.

“Does Lady Catelyn write to you often?” Howland asked.

“She did, during the war,” Benjen said.

“How do you think she would feel about her husband’s bastard being raised at Winterfell, alongside her own son?”

Benjen’s face paled. “But we can’t send him away! He’s Ned’s son, a Stark in blood if not in name.”

“Perhaps the boy would be safer at Greywater Watch with me,” Howland said.

“That is very kind of you, and you have done so much for us already, I scarcely know how to repay you. But I must honor Ned’s last request. His son must be raised at Winterfell.”

“Things could be difficult for Jon, as he grows older. I don’t imagine Lady Catelyn would look too kindly on her husband’s bastard. Lord Stannis too,” Howland warned.

“Cat is very kind and generous,” Benjen disagreed. “I’m sure she would …”

Suddenly Benjen did not look so certain any longer.

“She would be hurt. Greatly so. She had come to respect Ned, even love him, she wrote in her letters,” Benjen said quietly.

“Greywater Watch –“

“No! Jon must be raised at Winterfell, as Ned wanted. We’ll tell everyone he’s my son,” Benjen said firmly.

Howland was incredulous. “Your son? You are scarcely more than a child yourself. Who would believe it?”

“I am fifteen now, which would make me fourteen years of age when Jon was conceived. It was my first time; she was kind and gentle, and I wanted to do the right thing for our child. People would believe that. After all, Brandon lost his virginity at thirteen.”

“But you are not Brandon,” Howland protested. “And a bastard living under the same roof as you will make marriage plans more difficult. Have you thought of that, Benjen? You are still young, your whole life is ahead of you.”

“I have no plans for marriage,” Benjen replied.

“You will, one day, boy. Count on it.”

“Once Lord Stannis, Lady Catelyn and Robb have settled down in Winterfell, I will be going to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch,” Benjen said, looking suddenly years and years older than his age.

Howland was amazed. “The Night’s Watch? Why?”

“House Stark has always sent at least one son to be a Black Brother throughout the ages. It is our duty, and a long-standing tradition.”

“But you are the last of your brothers now. Surely the Night’s Watch does not expect you to honor that tradition still. What of the Stark line, if you take the oath and father no children?”

“Robb will continue the Stark name,” Benjen said. He frowned, hesitated for a long while, before finally saying,” I do not wish to be used as a pawn by men lusting for power. There have been enough deaths and enough bloodsheds already. Lord Stannis’ reign as Lord Protector of the North would go more smoothly if I am not at Winterfell.”

With that ominous note, Benjen left to search for the nephew he had claimed as his own son. Howland sighed. The north had lost many good men during the war, but all of them had died fighting battles in the south. But now the north itself could be the site of the battle, of the bloodshed.

_Robert Baratheon is a fool_ , Howland thought, not for the first time. The king had claimed a great and abiding friendship with Ned Stark, yet he still knew nothing of the north.

 


	6. Ghosts of Winterfell

She wanted Benjen to take them down to the crypt to pay their respects to the dead. That was the first thing Catelyn asked Benjen after the formalities of greetings had been completed upon their arrival. Lord Stannis looked almost reluctant at first, but he exchanged wary glances with Catelyn as if it was something they had discussed at length on the way to Winterfell. The knight who had been shadowing Lord Stannis fell into an easy conversation with Ser Rodrik, and the two men spoke as if they had known each other for most of their lives.

Benjen led the way, holding a lantern to light their way through the darkness down in the crypt. Catelyn was holding Robb in her arms, the babe fussing slightly, but not crying. Catelyn had insisted on bringing Robb with them. “He should pay his respect to his father. And his grandfather, aunt and uncle.”

The damp smell was probably bothering Robb, and the darkness too, Benjen thought. He seemed a healthy, well-nourished lad, with the look of a Tully more than a Stark. But it was hard to tell with a babe, perhaps Robb would grow to look more like his father later on. When they were about to go down the narrow, winding stone steps, Stannis held out his arms to Catelyn, saying curtly, “My lady, give me the babe.” Catelyn did so carefully, watching his son in Stannis’ arms with a guarded expression, as if she was worried Robb would start howling. He did not. Instead, he stopped fussing, staring intently at Stannis with wide open eyes. Stannis seemed startled, and quickly looked away from the babe.

Catelyn gazed raptly at the carved likeness of the kings of winter, with direwolves curled round their feet, guarding the bones and mortal remains in their tombs. Stannis, on the other hand, barely gave the stone carvings a glance, his gaze focused on Benjen. “They are down at the end,” Benjen said softly, in reply to a question that had not yet been asked.

Brandon and Eddard Stark’s stone likeness stood on either side of their father, with Lyanna next to Eddard. Benjen had arranged it thus – for Lyanna had secretly loved Ned the best among her brothers. And Ned and Lyanna had both lost their lives at Tower of Joy.  

_Where would I stand, when it is my time to join them in death?_

Benjen pushed the thought aside. If he joined the Night’s Watch, his bones would not lie in this crypt with his family, and no stonemason would carve a likeness of him to stand beside his father, brothers and sister. Catelyn went first to Rickard Stark’s tomb, laying down her hand on the sepulcher. “This is your grandfather, Robb,” she said to her son who was still in Stannis’ arms. Stannis moved forward and handed the boy to Catelyn without a word. “And this … this is your father,” Catelyn said, pointing to Ned’s likeness, her voice almost breaking.

The carving did not do Ned justice, Benjen thought with sorrow. The stonemason did not know Ned as well as he had known Rickard Stark and Brandon. Ned had spent most of his childhood and his youth at the Eyrie with Robert Baratheon. The mason had carved Lyanna to capture her beauty and her loveliness, but managed to capture none of her wildness, very little of her spirit.

Stannis retreated to the far side of the wall, staring straight ahead, ignoring Catelyn and the words she was telling her son. When they emerged from the darkness of the crypt, Catelyn whispered to Benjen, “I hope you do not think Lord Stannis was being disrespectful. He wanted to give me and Robb some time alone with Ned.”

Benjen was surprised. “I didn’t think anything of it, my lady.”

“You must call me Cat,” she said, smiling. “Your brothers did.”

Benjen hesitated, glancing at Stannis’ back. “But perhaps Lord Stannis would not like that.”

Catelyn’s smile faded slightly, as if it was a complication she had not foreseen. “We are a family,” she said firmly after a while. “You are like a brother to me, Benjen.”

_Now or never_ , Benjen thought.

“There is something I wish to discuss with you and Lord Stannis. Something important,” he told Catelyn. He would have to let them know about Jon right away. He had to be the one who told them, before they heard any wild tales or rumors from anyone else. Or worse, found Jon or his wet nurse in the castle before they were told of his identity.

Maester Luwin had asked Benjen gently but pointedly, “How did Howland Reed come to find your bastard?” He had more questions as well - _Did Howland Reed know the mother? How certain is he that this is your son? That the woman was the woman you bedded? And who is the woman?_

Benjen refused to answer any of the questions. How could he, when he had none of the answers? “I cannot dishonor her,” was the only thing he said.

“She is dead, you say. Died giving birth to this boy. How can her honor be involved now?” Rodrik Cassell their master-at-arms had asked, reasonably enough.

“It is,” Benjen said stubbornly.

“Was she a highborn lady?” Maester Luwin asked.

Benjen kept his silence. “I can say no more,” he said, with a grim finality in his voice that he hoped was enough to stop the questioning.

It wasn’t. “We just want to be sure that you are not being swindled or lied to,” Ser Rodrik said. “That this boy is truly your son.”

Benjen affected to be angry. “We all know Howland Reed. He has more than proven his loyalty as a Stark bannerman. How can you doubt his words about a matter this important?” Benjen had told Reed to leave Winterfell quickly and go back to Greywater Watch, so he could not be interrogated by Maester Luwin , Rodrik Cassell, or even Lord Stannis when he finally arrived. Benjen was determined to keep Ned’s secret. It would grieve him if anyone were to think less of Ned. Especially Catelyn.

But the way Maester Luwin was looking at him, Benjen felt like he had somehow let the maester down. Rickard Stark had commiserated with Maester Luwin, and Maester Walys before him, about Brandon’s proclivities and adventures with women. “A certain amount of liberty is to be expected from a man,” Lord Stark had said. “But Brandon is planting his seeds in places he knew better than to do so.”

Howland Reed had mentioned the possibility of letting it be known that Jon was one of Brandon’s many rumored bastards. Benjen had balked at that. Jon did not look old enough to be fathered by Brandon before he died, for one, and Benjen would not agree to his dead brother’s name to be dragged through the mud for something he did not do. Not in this case.  

“It was only the one time, maester,” Benjen told Luwin. “With Jon’s mother. With anyone. Father and Brandon had died, Lyanna was still nowhere to be found, and Ned had left with most of the men. I was … afraid. I needed … I don’t know what I needed.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, my son,” the maester replied. “You were grieving. You were alone. You needed comfort.”

Catelyn said almost the same thing to him, when Benjen confided to her about being Jon’s father. She was kind, understanding, and not at all censorious. He wondered if she would have reacted the same way if she had known the truth of Jon’s parentage. An unmarried brother-in-law with a bastard was not the same thing at all as her own husband with a bastard, especially if that bastard was to share a roof with her own son. There was not betrayal to her marriage vow in Benjen fathering a bastard.

Stannis was much less kind and understanding. “Now that you have planted the seed, it is your duty to care for the child, of course. But it would have been better if you had refrained from making a bastard in the first place,” he told Benjen, his mouth frowning with distaste. “But at least you know where your bastard is, unlike my brother,” he muttered under his breath.

When Catelyn left them to put Robb to sleep, Benjen told Stannis about his plan to join the Nights’ Watch. Stannis was adamantly opposed to the plan. “They would I say I am trying to get rid of you by sending you to the Wall.”

“But this is my decision,” Benjen objected.

“And who would believe it?” Stannis scoffed. “We could both stand on the highest tower of Winterfell and scream it to the kingdom, and no one would believe our words. They would say that you were coerced, that I forced your hand. The northmen are already inclined to be suspicious of me.”

“I will convince them. I will make them believe that my decision is not coerced in any way. They –“

Stannis interrupted. “It is very short-sighted of you. You are the last true-born Stark besides Robb. And no, your bastard son does not count,” Stannis said dismissively before Benjen could say anything. “If something were to happen to Robb before he comes of age, or before he has an heir of his own, you must be around to inherit. So you must father another son, a true-born heir this time, which you cannot do if you are in the Night’s Watch. That is your duty. And we must all do our duty. Great or small, we must all do our duty,” Stannis insisted.

Benjen tried to explain to Stannis that his presence in Winterfell would only make things more complicated. “There are those who whisper that -”

“That the king should have appointed the last remaining Stark brother, and Robb Stark’s uncle, as Lord Protector and Warden of the North. Instead of a stranger from the south who knows nothing about the north, and has no blood ties with Robb Stark. I know. Perhaps they are not wrong. My brother hears no counsel but his own, and his decisions often leave much to be desired,” Stannis said, grinding his teeth loudly. Benjen wondered if Stannis was thinking of the king’s decision to deny Stannis the Baratheon’s ancestral seat in favor of his younger brother.

“But my brother _is_ king, and the king has given his command. I must do my duty and obey, as must you,” Stannis continued. “It is not faith in my ability and lack of your faith in yours, or the other northern lords, that drove him to that decision, if you’re wondering,” Stannis said bitterly. “As an outsider, I can be dislodged quite easily when it is time for Robb to take up the rein and rule as Lord of Winterfell. That is my brother’s primary consideration, to safeguard’s Robb Stark’s inheritance. But he might have discounted the sentiments of the northmen.”

Catelyn tried to convince Benjen not to depart for the Wall as well. Her reason was different than Stannis’ reason had been - not duty, but family. Robb would need a Stark to teach him how to be a Stark. And could Benjen bear to be parted from his son? Would not Jon grow up feeling that his father had abandoned him, somehow?

Benjen was wavering. He had been so certain that joining the Night’s Watch was the right path to take, for everyone’s sake, not just his own. He tried to seek Maester Luwin’s counsel. The maester pondered and considered the matter for a time, before concluding, “It is much better for you to be in Winterfell. It would show everyone that you are loyal to Lord Stannis, that you do not resent his appointment. If you are far away at the Wall, then irresponsible rumors and speculation could be spread. Rebellions could be staged in your name without you even knowing it. But if you are here, you can dispel those rumors.”

Benjen frowned. He confided to Maester Luwin his principal concern - that Lord Stannis might grow to resent his presence at Winterfell, if people kept saying that Benjen Stark was the one who should have been appointed Lord Protector and Warden of the North.

“Do you think you should have been?” Maester Luwin asked.

Benjen was struck speechless. He had never given much consideration to his own thinking and feeling on the matter, only on how others would react. “Lord Stannis is older than I am, and he has proven himself during the Siege of Storm’s End. And he is the king’s brother. And in any case, Brandon was supposed to be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He was the one trained for it, not me.”

“And now we must all do everything we can to ensure that Robb grows up to be a good and worthy Lord of Winterfell,” Maester Luwin said.

____________________________________________________________

Catelyn had no opportunity to speak to her husband alone since their arrival. After Stannis was done with Benjen, he spent hours cloistered with Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik. Catelyn herself was busy with the steward and the servants, carefully feeling her way into the household. She had run her father’s household and had been the de facto lady of Riverrun since her mother’s death, so the running of a household was not a strange or terrifying prospect for Catelyn.

But she reminded herself constantly that Winterfell was different, that she was no longer the beloved daughter of Hoster Tully as she had been at Riverrun, but the widow of Eddard Stark who came to Winterfell with her new husband. They were both strangers, she and Stannis, strangers and perhaps usurpers in the eyes of the people in Winterfell. She would have to watch her words and her actions carefully. But most of all, she was worried _for_ , and _about_ , her husband. Stannis was not one to soften his words, or dissemble in any way for the sake of courtesy or diplomacy.

It did not make matters easier that Catelyn felt she still have to be very guarded regarding her words and actions with Stannis. They were both still feeling their way cautiously and warily into their marriage. She was being pushed and pulled from all directions, and there seemed to be no letting up in the pressures she had to endure.

_I have to be strong. For Robb’s sake_. And for her own sake as well.

That night, their first night in Winterfell, she steeled herself to have the first of the many difficult conversations she would have to conduct with her husband. She told Stannis that Robb should be brought up in the faith of his father, worshiping the old gods, since he would be ruling over the northmen one day. “Do you have any objection, Stannis?”

Stannis looked puzzled. “No, why should I? It matters not to me what god your son worships.”

Catelyn flinched at the way he said “ _your son_.”

Ned had ordered for a sept to be built in Winterfell after their wedding. Catelyn had been in it, had prayed to the Mother to protect her son, her dead husband, and her new husband. She told Stannis about the sept, so he knew where to go should he wished to pray.

He turned his face away from her. “So you mean to keep your faith in the Seven, despite what you have decided about Robb? Not on my account, I hope.”

Catelyn blushed. “When I married Ned, we agreed that I could continue with my own faith, as long as our children are brought up in the faith of their father. That’s why Ned ordered for the sept to be built, for my benefit.”

“How very generous of him,” Stannis said, but his tone troubled Catelyn. It sounded less than complimentary.

“You can worship whichever god you prefer, my lady. The Seven have not been worthy of my worship for a long time, and I’d wager the old gods are no better,” Stannis said, and then refused to divulge further.

“What about our children?” Catelyn braced herself to ask.

The look of surprise on Stannis’ face was unmistakable. It was as if he had never considered that they would ever have children of their own, he and Catelyn. “They should be brought up in the faith of their father, isn’t that what I am supposed to say?” Stannis finally said after a long pause. “But I have none, so they should follow their mother’s faith.”

“But I wonder if that would drive a wedge between Robb and his brothers and sisters,” Catelyn said, “if they are raised believing in different gods.”

‘Robb _is_ different,” Stannis said firmly. “He will be Lord of Winterfell when he comes of age. He will make his home in the north, among his father’s people. His brothers and sisters, if they exist at all, will not be inheriting anything, and who knows where they will end up making their home. It will not do anyone any good to pretend that there is no difference.”

When the candles had been blown and darkness ruled the room, Stannis muttered, “Perhaps it is better for our children never to be born at all. They will have nothing to inherit from their father, not even Storm’s End that should have belonged to my heir by right. Robb is much more fortunate to have Ned Stark as his father.”

Catelyn refused to let despair overtook her. She moved closer to her husband and whispered, “They will have our love, and Robb’s love.” She waited for her husband to scoff, but he did not, which was a little encouraging, at least.  

 


	7. Blood Relations

Maester Luwin was younger than Maester Cressen, his face not as lined, his walk not as stooped, his voice not as familiar to Stannis as the voice of the maester who had pulled him out of his mother’s womb. Whatever it was Maester Luwin truly thought and felt about the lord he was now to give the benefit of his counsel and advice, he kept to himself.

“Maesters serve the castle, my lord, not the House.”

“Your loyalty is to Winterfell and not to House Stark, is that what you are saying? Or is it truly to the Citadel?”

“I serve the Lord of Winterfell,” Luwin replied, which was not really an answer at all as far as Stannis was concerned, the current Lord of Winterfell being a babe less than a year old.

“What do the northmen say about this marriage? The truth and only the truth, maester. I do not wish you to dissemble in a misguided attempt to spare me.”

_Or in a deliberate attempt to deceive me._ He did not know this maester, Stannis reminded himself. This was not Maester Cressen, despite the chain around his neck.

“Your bannermen –“

“They are not my bannermen. They are Robb Stark’s bannermen.”

Catelyn would not have been pleased hearing Stannis calling her son ‘ _Robb Stark’_ , Stannis knew. Robb, that’s what she wanted him to call her son. A cloud would darken her expression when Stannis referred to her son as ‘ _Robb Stark’_ or ‘ _the boy’_ or ‘ _your son’_ , as Stannis almost always did. Not a word of censure or rebuke ever passed her lips on the matter, but her face said it all.

It would have been better if it was anger he saw on Catelyn’s face in those moments. Or even disappointment. He could have ignored both the anger and the disappointment, just as he had ignored the anger and disappointment on the faces of many others over the years.

The sadness, however, was harder to contend with.

Calling the boy ‘ _Robb_ ’ reminded Stannis too much of his brother Robert. And Robert was not someone he wished to be reminded of at the moment.

Master Luwin was giving Stannis that _look_ , thatslightly-disappointed-but-I-am-not-trying-to-judge-you-my-lord-I-serve-at-your-pleasure-I-am-only-giving-you-the-benefit-of-my-counsel look Cressen had mastered.

Were they trained to give that look at the Citadel, Stannis wondered? Perhaps there was an archmaester whose sole task it was to train the maesters about the various looks they should be perfecting to deal with various situations the lords they were serving had gotten themselves into.

“They are your bannermen until master Robb comes of age and is old enough to rule, Lord Stannis,” Maester Luwin reminded him.

It was nothing new to Stannis, ruling over those who wished they were being ruled by another man, someone more worthy and more lordly in their eyes. “Lord Robert would not have allowed things to come to this pass. We would not starve if Lord Robert is here,” had been the whispers heard at Storm’s End during the long siege. Never mind that it was Robert who had made Stannis swear an oath on the graves of their father and mother that he would hold Storm’s End for Robert, whatever the cost, until the war was won.

Robert was a long way away in King’s Landing; there was no point thinking about him.  

“Perhaps the distance will make you both appreciate the other all the more,” Maester Cressen had said, on Stannis’ last night in King’s Landing.

_“_ You are being too hopeful, maester,” Stannis had replied. “I very much doubt that would be the case.”

_You are being delusional, maester_ , was what Stannis was really thinking, but he did not wish to be unkind to Cressen, in the last conversation they would have for a long while. Who knew when they would ever set eyes on each other again, Stannis and Maester Cressen? He did not think Cressen would be able to survive the long, hard journey to Winterfell.  

He went to look for Catelyn at the nursery. There was the matter of the guests for Robb’s nameday feast to be discussed. The boy would be celebrating his first nameday in a moon’s turn. A feast of any kind was detestable to Stannis, usually. But this was not the usual situation. It was time for the people of the north to catch a glimpse of the boy who would be ruling over them one day.

Catelyn was not at the nursery, however. Only the nurse was there watching over Robb and Jon. One of the nurses. It had taken Stannis a while to realize that there was in fact more than one. This was the younger nurse, younger than Catelyn, looking more like a girl than a woman. The nurse was startled, surprised by his presence in the nursery.

“Lord Stannis,” she said, bowing her head.

“Was Lady Catelyn here?”

“Lady Catelyn just left for the kitchen to see the cook, m’lord,” the nurse said.

Why should she look so surprised to find him in the nursery? These children were in his care as well, as much as they were in Catelyn’s.

The boys were both standing up in their respective cots, babbling nonsense to each other. Robb’s hands were grasping the iron bars tightly, as if he was afraid he would lose his footing otherwise. Jon could already walk a few steps unaided; Robb had yet to take a step on his own. Stannis stared at the boys, one after the other, as they continued making noises and gesticulating excitedly, for all intents and purposes looking as if they were actually having a conversation with each other, in a secret language other people were excluded from understanding.

The nurse’s footsteps coming into the room diverted Stannis from his thoughts. He had not noticed that she had gone out at all, leaving him alone with the children. He shuddered at the thought of the boys crying while he was left alone with them.

“It’s feeding time,” the nurse announced in a sing-songy voice. “Are you hungry, my little lords?”

Envisioning exposed breasts and nipples, Stannis quickly made a move to leave. “I’ll leave you to the feeding, then.”

The nurse cleared her throat. “I am not the wet nurse, m’lord. She will come later to give them milk.”

Did she look amused? Was there a snicker hidden behind her words, Stannis wondered? But she only looked grave, and a little scared.

“What are you feeding them?” Stannis asked, curious. He did not know that the boys were now being fed more than just milk.

“Turnips, m’lord. Boiled and mashed. It’s quite safe,” the nurse insisted, as if expecting a rebuke from Stannis. “Young turnips boiled until they are soft, then mashed so there are no lumps. There is no danger of the boys choking, ever so soft the cook has made it. Lady Catelyn said it was time for master Robb and master Jon to eat a little bit of solid food. On top of the milk of course. They’re still having that.”

Stannis nodded. Catelyn would know better than him, when it comes to the feeding and caring of children.

The boys were making a lot of noise, pointing their fingers at the bowl the nurse was holding, shouting something in unison Stannis could not understand.

“Oh dear,” the nurse said, suddenly looking flustered. “Lady Catelyn or the wet nurse is usually here for the feeding, to help hold the boys.”

“Can’t you feed them as they are? In their cots?”

“No, they would be moving too much, m’lord.  The mash would only make a mess all over, not going in their mouths,” the nurse replied. Indeed the boys were now bouncing in their cribs, impatient to be fed.

“Well, you can hold one boy and feed him first,” Stannis pointed out the very obvious solution.

Or perhaps it was not as obvious as Stannis had thought. The nurse picked up Robb from his crib and was starting to feed him when Jon started bawling. Very loudly, and with an abundance of tears falling down his cheeks. Robb started crying too, noticing Jon’s distress.

The nurse was looking flustered again. “Oh dear, oh dear. What should I do?” The older nurse would not have been flustered, Stannis suspected. Catelyn would not have been flustered. This girl however, was looking uncertainly at the crying boy still in his cot, and the crying boy in her arms. Quickly losing his patience, Stannis took Robb from her arms, and gestured to her to pick Jon up from his cot.

Jon immediately stopped crying once he was picked up. The noise from the boy in Stannis’ arms ceased as well.

“If you could sit on that chair, m’lord, then I can feed them both at the same time. They like to do things together, these two.” Suddenly the nurse was all competence, no longer sounding or looking flustered or uncertain. She fed the boys alternately, her spoon going from Robb’s mouth to Jon’s mouth, and back again.

Robb had gotten heavier, Stannis realized. Much heavier than the last time Stannis had held him, when they went down to the crypt to pay their respect to the dead Starks. Robb’s hand with his chubby fingers was trying to grab Stannis’ nose and mouth. He wanted to remove Robb’s grasping hand from his face, but despite the chubby fingers, the hand looked almost transparent, so fragile that Stannis feared bruising it, or hurting the boy in some way.

He stared at this babe. Catelyn’s child. Ned Stark’s son. The blue eyes were almost the exact same shade as his mother’s eyes. What little hair Robb had was reddish-brown, and would grow to be the same shade as Catelyn’s hair, Stannis suspected. Robb had the look of a Tully more than a Stark. Stannis wondered if that would make life more difficult for Robb, once he was old enough to rule as Lord of Winterfell. Would his men hold it against him, that he was a Stark who was not raised by his Stark father, that he was a Stark who did not really look like a Stark?

Stannis’ gaze moved towards the other boy. Benjen Stark’s bastard certainly had the look of a Stark, with his grey eyes and his dark brown hair, already quite thick and plentiful for a babe. It was plain enough to see from his appearance that Jon Snow had Stark blood in him, despite his bastard origin.

“Master Robb! Naughty, naughty boy.” The nurse’s voice startled Stannis. He looked down to see Robb trying to jam his fingers into Stannis’ mouth. Renly as a babe used to do the same with Robert, Stannis recalled. Robert would open his mouth wide, as if to swallow not just the fingers, but Renly’s entire arm as well. That game had entertained little Renly endlessly. Stannis never understood what had been the attraction in that game for Renly, what was so funny about Robert pretending to be a monster who wanted to eat him.

Robb was getting frustrated with his fingers meeting Stannis’ fully-closed mouth. His eyes were gazing at Stannis, as if pleading for something. What was he pleading for? What did the boy want? To play a silly game like Robert used to play with Renly? He would have thought a son of Ned Stark would be above those kinds of silliness. Stannis could still recall his surprise at meeting Ned Stark for the first time. He had been expecting something very, very different of the man Robert had loved and valued more than his own brothers. He had been expecting someone more like Robert, instead of the grave, solemn man who came to Storm’s End to break the siege.

“The boy is only a babe. A babe who has never known his own father, who will never know his father. It is your duty to stand in place of his dead father, my lord.” That was Maester Cressen’s last counsel before Stannis left for Winterfell.

Even Ned Stark as a babe probably delighted in playing silly games with his father and mother, Maester Cressen would have said, if he was here at Winterfell.

Even Stannis as a babe had delighted in playing silly games with his father and mother. His favorite was his father’s hand puppets, Lord Steffon working his fingers to imitate various creatures and animals, while his mouth imitated the sound of the animal in question. Stannis had only a vague recollection of this, but his mother had told him the story often enough.

He could not even stand in place of their father to his own orphan brother, Stannis thought, recalling Renly’s constant cries for the absent Robert, for the father and mother he never knew, for anyone except Stannis. How could he do so for Ned Stark’s son?

Jon Snow at least had his father with him, bastard that he was. And an aunt by marriage who seemed to care for him. Robb only had his mother.

There were tears pooling in Robb’s eyes. He had not made a sound yet, but the boy’s mouth was opening and closing ominously, as if he was getting ready to let out the most hideous howl. The nurse would tell Catelyn for certain, if Robb started bawling when Stannis was holding him. Catelyn would not say anything to rebuke him, Stannis knew, but all the same, he did not want her to know that he had made her son cry. Reluctantly, Stannis opened his mouth, as if threatening to swallow Robb’s fingers whole. Robb pulled away his hand, then brought it closer to Stannis’ mouth again. Back and forth, over and over again, with Stannis opening and closing his mouth in turn.

Just like the game Robert used to play with Renly.

Had Robert played the same game with him? Stannis doubted it.

Robb was giggling. Jon was laughing as well, bouncing on the nurse’s lap, pointing his own hand towards Stannis as if saying, “my turn next.” He would play the silly game with Jon as well, in the interest of fairness.

And then disaster struck. Stannis closed his mouth at the wrong moment, before Robb could take his fingers away. Three chubby fingers trapped inside his mouth. Thankfully his teeth did not snap shut on the fingers. Robb did not seem scared or bothered at all; he was grinning wider than ever, one his fingers tickling Stannis’ tongue.

Catelyn walked in on them at that very moment. At the sight of her, Stannis immediately removed Robb’s hand out of his mouth, then moving it away from his face. In his haste, he was none too gentle with the boy. Robb started crying. Stannis swiftly handed the boy over to Catelyn without a word. He turned away quickly, not wanting to see the look of anger, or perhaps disappointment, in her face. She must be thinking, _What have you done to my son?_

He walked out of the nursery to the sound of his wife calling out his name. 


	8. The Lord of Naught

“He chopped off your fingers with his own hand?” Lord Umber sounded doubtful. “A southron lord, swinging the sword himself?”

“It was a cleaver, my lord,” Davos replied.

Lord Umber stared at Davos, his expression disbelieving. “Huh. Who would have thought? He is not such a soft southerner after all.”

Lord Manderly made disapproving noises. “Tsk. Tsk. Now, now, Lord Umber. We know his brother’s courage and prowess in battle. Lord Stannis could not be far behind.”

“Battle courage is one thing, but I have seen many a lord who could not swing the sword himself to punish a wrongdoer. Headman! We have no use for headmen in the north,” Lord Umber declared, banging his hand on the table loudly.

The old ways, Davos thought. _The man who passes the punishment should swing the sword._ “I am certain Lord Stannis would have no trouble swinging the sword himself, my lords,” Davos said, with conviction. Having been on the receiving end of Stannis swinging a weapon in punishment, Davos could attest to that, could attest to the fact that Stannis’ resolve never wavered and his hand did not shake. And Stannis had done the deed with one swing of the cleaver. Just one. Davos was grateful for that.

Lord Umber did not seem convinced. “A finger is one thing, a head is another. Easy enough to chop a finger.”

“He chopped four, my lord, not just the one finger,” Davos said.

“May I see it?” Wyman Manderly asked, almost apologetically. “Your hand, Ser Davos. Forgive an indolent man his curiosity,” he said, chuckling.

Davos removed the glove covering his maimed hand. Lord Manderly and Lord Umber leaned forward to inspect the shortened fingers. Lord Umber made appreciative noises, as if he was looking at a piece of skilled workmanship. “This was done in one swing, I can tell. With no hesitation on the swing, I’d wager.”

“You’re right, Lord Umber,” Davos said.

Lord Manderly was smiling. “You must think us such blood-thirsty savages, Ser Davos.”

“Not at all, Lord Manderly.” Still, Davos wondered what had been the purpose of inspecting his hand.

“Ser Davos here is not some highborn lord swaddled in soft feathers. He’s seen life, he knows what’s what,” Lord Umber declared.

It had been a surprise finding Lord Umber at White Harbor. Davos had been sent to deliver the invitation for Lord Manderly to attend Robb Stark’s first nameday celebration. Not just to deliver the invitation, of course, but to gauge Lord Manderly’s  sentiments towards Lord Stannis. Ser Rodrik was making his way to Last Hearth to deliver the invitation to Lord Umber. He would find the lord gone. What was the purpose for Lord Umber’s visit to White Harbor, Davos wondered?

 “Lord Stannis has endeared himself to us with his choice of man,” Lord Manderly said.

“Oh aye, aye,” Lord Umber concurred, almost reluctantly. “We thought he was going to bring a legion of southron lords and knights with him, to replace the Stark’s men in various positions in Winterfell with his own men. Instead he brought only you, the newly-minted onion knight.”

Lord Manderly gave Lord Umber a sharp glance. The latter looked uncomprehending at first, raising his shoulders as if asking – _What_? For a moment, impatience and frustration could be glimpsed on Wyman Manderly’s face, but it was gone before Davos could truly be certain that it had been there.

Lord Umber laughed, a booming laugh that filled the hall. “Wyman here wants me to be more mindful of my tongue. Sod that, I say. I am a simple man with simple words, not for me false compliments or insults hidden behind sweet words. It’s true, Lord Stannis’ coming to Winterfell has not been as disastrous as we feared it might be.”

Davos cleared his throat. “Lord Stannis is aware that his appointment, and his marriage to Lord Stark’s widow, might not be to the liking of many in the north.”

“Well, if the king is not going to make an Umber the Lord Protector and wed him to Ned Stark’s widow, I’d rather it be an outsider and not a Bolton or a Karstark. Or even a Manderly,” Lord Umber said. “No offense to you, Wyman, but I’d rather not be lorded over by one of you lot.”

As opposed to being lorded over by an outsider? _They think an outsider will be easier to control_ , Davos suddenly realized. Easier to put in his place, easier to dislodge when the time came for Robb Stark to take up the rein.

Lord Manderly looked amused. “No offense taken, Lord Umber.” He turned his attention to Davos, looking grave now. “It is a difficult matter to speak of, Ser Davos. But the competition for Lady Catelyn’s hand was, shall we say, very fierce. I wonder if the king decided the way he did in order not to cause offense and hard feelings by choosing someone from one of the northern Houses. He chose his own brother instead, and who could blame him for that?”

“Of course,” Lord Manderly continued, “not everyone has the wisdom and foresight of some in this matter. The Karstarks are still whining to anyone who would listen that Lady Catelyn should have been wed to one of them, since they are the closest thing to an actual Stark. And then there are others insisting that it should have been Benjen Stark married to Lady Catelyn, since he is the last of the Stark brothers.”

“And we know whose hand is behind that,” Lord Umber grumbled. “When you think that Roose Bolton was the one with the loudest voice insisting that Benjen Stark was too young to be left in charge of Winterfell while his brother went off to war, the temerity of it … it sickens me. Bolton wanted to be made Lord Protector for the duration of the war. Hoping that Ned would die, of course, and then he could wrest power from the Starks. But Ned was not foolish enough to fall for his scheming.”

“Lord Stannis would not wish to stay after Robb Stark comes of age and could rule on his own,” Davos said. “He would not try to wrest power from the Starks.”

_I want nothing more than to go home, Davos_. _As soon as I can._

Lord Manderly was gazing at Davos warily. “We heard that the king has given Storm’s End to his youngest brother. That leaves Lord Stannis with nothing once he is no longer Lord Protector of the North, does it not?”

How could you go home when there was no home to go to?

“Lord Stannis cares only about doing his duty, not about land and title,” Davos insisted.

“You may be right, Ser Davos. You know him better than I do after all. Yes, he may not care about land and title for himself, but once he has children … I am a father myself, and there is no end to the things that I would do for the sake of my children that I would never consider doing for my own sake,” Lord Manderly countered.

“Lord Stannis knows his children would have no claim on Winterfell at all,” Davos said.

“Well, let’s hope he does not forget that, Ser Davos.”

It was ridiculous, Lord Manderly’s fear, Davos told himself. It was so counter to the Stannis that Davos knew.

_You have done things for the sake of your sons that you would never consider doing otherwise. It was the thought of your sons that stayed your feet from running when Stannis declared your punishment._

The thought of the land and the knighthood heralding a new life for his sons, opening doors and opportunities that would have been closed for them otherwise. If he had been without a family, Davos would have chosen to keep his fingers, would have chosen the sea and not service to a lord on dry land.

_Yes, but I am not Stannis!_

_He is a man like any other. He would be a father like any other._

It was foolish to worry about that now. There was no sign that Lady Catelyn was with child. In fact, the word around the castle was that Stannis and Lady Catelyn had not been sleeping in the same room after their first night in Winterfell. Davos did not know the truth of it, and would never ask, of course. But he suddenly wondered if the marriage had been consummated.

_Surely it must have been, on their wedding night. And they spent some time in King’s Landing after the wedding before going to Winterfell._

But had they spent those nights in the same bedchamber?

An unconsummated marriage could  be easily set aside. If the rumors about Lord Stannis and Lady Catelyn sleeping in separate rooms went beyond Winterfell, there was no telling what unscrupulous men could do with that rumor, Lord Bolton and Lord Karstark in particular.

Should he bring up the subject with Stannis? Davos recoiled at the thought. But who else would? Davos did not think that even Maester Luwin could, or would. The maester was still uncertain of his standing with Lord Stannis. If Maester Cressen was here, perhaps he would, but Cressen was miles and miles away in Storm’s End.

His duty was to protect and serve. Davos would not be doing his duty if he did not warn Lord Stannis about the danger.

But then again, if Lord Stannis and Lady Catelyn _did_ have a child, that would also be troubling to some, as Lord Manderly had warned. Davos had never known a marital relation to be so fraught with external significance, so laden with meaning to other people besides the two in the marriage. But perhaps this was a normal occurrence for marriages among the highborns. They wed for alliances, for land and title, for peace, for war, for almost anything, it seemed, except two people choosing to be with each other.

The thought made Davos miss his beloved Marya all the more. He had chosen her and she had chosen him, and for no other reason than the love they shared. 


	9. The Stranger

“And they are both coming? Even Wyman Manderly?”

“Yes, my lord,” Davos replied.

“Roose Bolton made a great show of reluctance at first. Some disturbance in his land, he claimed. A mere excuse, of course,” Stannis scoffed. “Maester Luwin tells me I should be wary of Lord Bolton. But he does not tell me whether that is due to the age-old rivalry between the Starks and the Boltons, or referring to something more recent. Luwin is too vague and ambiguous with his words. On purpose, I’m sure. ‘ _I am certain you would like to form your own impression about certain matters, my lord, uncolored by my opinion_ ,’ he tells me. As if I’m a mule easily led whose mind is a blank slate that must be protected from any outside influence, even his own.” Stannis paused, staring out the window, gazing at the flurry of activities in the courtyard.

“Cressen would not have hesitated. Cressen would have told me the whole bitter truth, whether I wish to hear it or not. Cressen would have trusted in my ability to make up my own mind,” he continued.

“Maester Cressen has known you all your life, sire,” Davos reminded Stannis. “Maester Luwin is still trying to find his footing, still trying to know the new lord he is serving.” Davos paused, choosing his next words carefully. “Maester Luwin is a most valuable ally, my lord. It would not do to … to alienate him in any way.”

Stannis did not reply for a long time. “Have no fear, ser. I will not mention Maester Cressen in Maester Luwin’s presence. I know from my own experience how infuriating that could be. I have heard Robert wishing for Ned Stark often enough,” he finally said.

Davos breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there, while Stannis stayed ominously silent, Davos wondered if perhaps he had gone too far. “Lord Manderly and Lord Umber seem to think the same as Maester Luwin, about being wary of Lord Bolton,” Davos said.

Stannis narrowed his eyes. “Wyman Manderly and Greatjon Umber could be hatching their own schemes and plans, and turning my suspicion towards RooseBolton is merely the first step in their plotting.”

“It’s possible, of course,” Davos acknowledged. “We must be prepared for any eventuality. But it  _was_  Lord Bolton who had been the loudest voice whispering to Ned Stark that his brother Benjen was too young to be left in charge of Winterfell and the North while Lord Stark went south to war.”

“Bolton wanted Ned Stark to leave  _him_  in charge of Winterfell and the North?”

“I doubt Lord Bolton would have put it that bluntly. From the little I have learned about Roose Bolton, he operates in a more subtle manner.”

“Subtle, and therefore more devious,” Stannis said.

“Indeed.”

Stannis sighed. “I had thought that leaving King’s Landing for the North would take us far from the vile nest of treachery and corruption. That does not seem to be the case.”

“Treachery and corruption exist everywhere, sire. Men are … well, men, wherever they happen to reside,” Davos replied.

“True enough. I suppose my ears had been burning for so long hearing Robert going on and on about the indisputable and unrivalled honor and nobility of the northmen, I might have started to believe in it myself, despite my misgivings and more natural inclinations. But my brother in truth knew no northerner except Ned Stark, and even there, Robert knew the late Lord Stark less than he imagined, I should think.”

 _We all know those we love, as well as those we serve, less than we would like to believe_ , Davos thought.

 _Now. You_ have _to bring up the matter now._

Davos had no clue how Stannis would react.  _What business is it of yours?_  Stannis might say, and he would be entirely within his rights to say so.

It was Maester Cressen’s words that gave Davos the courage, in the end. “ _I will not be there with him. You, Davos. Only you. You’re the only one who could, and would, tell him the things he might not wish to hear.”_

“Sire, there is another matter … a most delicate matter,” Davos began.

Stannis raised an eyebrow. “Well, go on. I have never known you to flinch or turn away from anything before, delicate or not.”

“Concerning … children, my lord.”

“Children? Ah, your boys, Davos. I see. It must be hard for you to be separated from them. But I must have you here at Winterfell, ser. I must! I need someone I can trust by my side, my own man, not a Stark’s man, not a Winterfell’s man. Winterfell already has a maester; I could not have taken Cressen with me, not without alienating half the castle.”

 _I should have made my meaning clearer_ , Davos despaired. “No, sire, I was not speaking of my own children. I am glad to serve you in any way you have need of me, in Winterfell or anywhere else. My boys and my wife Marya are used to long separation. When I made my living at sea, I would be gone for months at a time before returning home.”

“When you were a smuggler, Davos. Let us be precise with our words.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Then which children are you talking about? Robb Stark and Jon Snow?”

Davos shook his head. “No, not them. Perhaps it isn’t the question of children, so much as … the act that breeds them. A marriage –“

Stannis interrupted. “Have you made a bastard of your own, Davos?”

Davos was aghast at the misunderstanding. “Sire, I -“

“I suppose that was why you brought up the long separation from your wife. Men are men, you said, but surely, if you love your wife as you claim you do, you would not dishonor her in that way. I was not pleased with Benjen Stark and his bastard, but at least Benjen was not a married man. At least he did not betray his marriage vow when he fathered his bastard. My brother Robert made more than his fair share of bastards, before and after his marriage. I would never have expected you to be the same kind of man, Davos,” Stannis said, sounding both angry, and disappointed.

The disappointment was much harder to bear for Davos.

_I have known other women, yes. But that is between Marya and me._

_Then what goes on in Lord Stannis’ marital bed is between him and Lady Catelyn. Why should it be any different?_

_There is a difference_ , Davos insisted. A big difference. What happened in Davos’ marriage had no bearing on anything or anyone else’s fate, except his own family. What happened in Lord Stannis’ marriage to Lady Catelyn, on the other hand, could determine the fate of countless others, even the fate of the North.

“Well? What have you got to say for yourself?” Stannis asked impatiently, his back turned to Davos.

Better to go straight to the heart of the matter, Davos thought. “It has been noticed, my lord, that you and Lady Catelyn have been sleeping in separate bedchambers.”

Stannis spun around quickly as if he had been shot by an arrow. “Noticed? Noticed by whom?”

“By almost everyone in Winterfell.”

“The servants are gossiping and spreading rumors, you mean? I will not have it! Who are these rumor-mongers? Tell me their names, Davos.”

“An unconsummated marriage can be easily set aside, sire,” Davos pressed on, ignoring Stannis’ outburst. “The rumor might be confined to Winterfell for the time being, but we don’t know how long it will stay that way. The danger –“

“I am well-aware of the danger!”

“Then sire, you must –“

“I must consummate my marriage? Is that what you’re going to say? What makes you so certain I have not done so already? We were married at King’s Landing, our wedding night was not at Winterfell. The marriage could have been consummated then.” Stannis eyes were like pointed daggers ready to stab and bloody Davos.

Davos neither flinch nor waver. “And was it? Consummated?”

“Take care that you do not overstep your bounds, smuggler,” Stannis warned. “I do not have to take this insolence from anyone. Not even you.”

Davos went down on his knee. “My lord, when you commanded me to accompany you to Winterfell, you bid me to give you my honest counsel and my loyal service. I would be giving you neither if I fail to make you see what a precarious position you have put yourself into, sire.”

Stannis continued staring at Davos, making no reply.

 “And not just yourself. Lady Catelyn and her son too,” Davos continued.

That remark finally prompted Stannis to respond. “The marriage was consummated,” Stannis enunciated each word clearly and carefully through gritted teeth. “On our wedding night.”

“It is also the question of appearance, my lord. Lady Catelyn is not with child, and –“

“-and since Ned Stark gave her a son on their wedding night, the fact that she is not with child now must mean either I have not touched her at all, or I am less of a man than the great Lord Stark was.”

“Sire, if you truly believe that I am capable of such thoughts, then you should send me away immediately, for being a man unworthy to serve you in any capacity.”

“No, not you, Davos. But I know other people must be thinking it. Robert, certainly,” Stannis laughed, bitterly.

“Your brother is not here. You are here. Lady Catelyn is here. The king entrusted Winterfell and the North in your care until Robb Stark comes of age.”

“And I must do my duty. Yes, Davos, I’m aware of that. I have been aware of that my whole life. Must I bed my wife in full view of everyone in the castle? Would that satisfy them?”

“Sharing her bedchamber at night would do much to quell the rumors, sire.”

 

_____________

 

The sept was empty except for her, as it usually was. Lately, Catelyn had been coming here not just to pray, but to be alone with her thoughts. It was the only place she could go at Winterfell where no one would speak to her; the only place where she did not have to pretend that she was all courage and strength, with no self-doubt and hesitation swirling inside her.

Her husband was not speaking to her much, however. Oh, they spoke of Winterfell’s business, of course; they were both of them too much a creature of duty to neglect their prescribed roles and functions. But they had not spoken the way they had that first night in King’s Landing, not since arriving at Winterfell.

He had not touched her since they arrived at Winterfell either. Not just  _touching her_  touching her, as a husband should his wife. He had avoided even accidentally grazing her hand, or touching her cheek, as he had done a few times, awkwardly and tentatively, in King’s Landing.

What had changed, Catelyn wondered? Him? Her? Both of them? The place?

Perhaps it would have been better if they had stayed a bit longer at King’s Landing. They would have had more time to forge a relationship, to get to know one another. In King’s Landing, she did not feel that they were constantly on display, persistently being watched and observed, as she was feeling here in Winterfell. In the capital, Stannis was only the king’s younger brother, and Catelyn held no position at all. There was some freedom in that.

 _We could not have delayed coming to Winterfell. It would have made things harder in the long run._ She knew that, of course. But still …

“You lit a candle for the Crone,” a voice said from the back of the sept.

Catelyn closed her eyes, gathering her courage before turning around. “I did, yes. For her lantern to guide us out of the darkness.”

He hesitated, before making his way towards her. “Are we … in the dark, my lady? Are we in need of guidance?”

“I am not certain, my lord. I thought perhaps you would have the answer,” Catelyn replied.

“I? Why should I, when I am not even certain of the right question?”

Neither of them spoke, for a time. “Did you lit candles and pray for the Mother’s mercy when your mother was dying?” He asked, breaking the silence.

“I prayed to the Stranger not to take my mother away from her children,” Catelyn replied.

“Praying to the Stranger. I would not have thought that of you, my lady.”

“There is much you do not know about me, my lord.”

“Ser Davos tells me … there are rumors. And whispers. It’s all over the castle, apparently.”

“It would not have escaped the servants’ notice that every morning we wake in separate bedchambers.”

“Ser Davos seems to think it might jeopardize our position. And your son’s.”

“Ser Davos is a wise man.”

“So you agree with him, my lady?”

“I do, yes.”

“You would not find it insulting, were I to return to your bed now?”

“It depends, my lord.”

“On what?”

“On why you left it in the first place.”

“This was his home.”

“Ned?”

He nodded. “In King’s Landing, it was … different. It was no one’s home, not mine, not yours. And certainly not his. It made things simpler, in a strange way.”

Catelyn nodded. “I know. We were just two people newly married. Here, it’s more complicated. There is the weight of Stark history, the re-”

“-the reminder of that Lord Stark who should have been here, bringing his lady wife home from the Riverlands.”

Catelyn waited.

“It makes me feel like a usurper,” he continued. “I have been cursing Robert for denying me Storm’s End and giving it to Renly, usurping my rightful inheritance, and yet …”

“What is done is done. Whether it’s Storm’s End, or Winterfell. If we are to build something here, something that will last, then we cannot let the past destroy us. We must not let the past consume us, to the detriment of the future.”

“Easier said than done. Tell me that part of you never wished that he had lived. That Robb had his true father still. That you had your Stark husband still. You must have wished that, at times.”

“I wish that my mother is still alive. You must wish the same, with your own mother and father.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“I married a man my father told me to wed. He died, so I married a man my king told me to wed. I would have been a good wife to Ned, had he lived. And I will be a good wife to you too. I will do my duty. I have always done my duty. You, of all people, should know that well enough.”

“It seems so bleak. And cold as winter. How could you stand it?”

“Because it doesn’t have to be cold and bleak. We can make it not so. We can work together so it is not so. But it will not happen on its own. Nothing happens on its own.”

“I don’t think I know how. Ned Stark might have been the northman, but he did not have ice water flowing in his veins.”

“You don’t either. It’s an excuse you cite, to keep people at arm’s length,” Catelyn said.

He frowned. “An excuse? I didn’t make it up. Robert accused me of it often enough. And others too, no doubt.”

“They are wrong. And we will prove them wrong, together, you and I.”

“You have too much faith in us, my lady.”

“And you have too little, my lord.”

 “You’re risking despair and disappointment.”

“I would rather risk that, than to live without hope. Than to live without hope and without faith that things could get better, if we try, if we strive, if we make an effort.”

 “This is pointless. We’re going in circles. This is only reminding me more starkly that you and I, my lady, we see the world in vastly different ways, our mutual commitment to duty notwithstanding.”

“Perhaps you’re right. But that is still a starting point, duty. It could lead us to surprising places, if we let it. It will lead you back to my bed, for one.”

“And then?”

“We will see, won’t we?”


	10. A Life Borrowed

“Father!” Jon’s voice rang out in the courtyard.

It felt very strange still to Benjen being called a father, when by right he should be called an uncle.

“Uncle Benjen,” called out Robb. “Where is Ser Onion Knight? Can he come and play with us?”

The name brought a smile to Benjen’s lips. Ser Davos was a great favorite with the two boys, and perhaps, missing his own sons, Davos himself was more than generous with his time with Robb and Jon. But the onion knight was not at Winterfell, having ridden alongside Stannis seven days ago to deal with Balon Greyjoy and his rebellion.

“Let me come with you,” Benjen had asked, when Stannis was preparing to leave.

The refusal was swift and uncompromising. “You must stay here to guard Winterfell,” Stannis declared.  

“Ser Rodrik is here to protect Winterfell,” Benjen pointed out. Stannis had made Rodrik Cassel the castellan of Winterfell in his absence.

“Ser Rodrik is not a Stark.”

It rankled, truth be told, being left behind like he was a callow boy while the men rode off to war. Benjen was a man of twenty now, not the boy of fourteen that he had been when Ned called his banners and rode south to fight the Mad King. If it was Ned, or even Brandon standing in front of him now, giving the order for him to stay behind, Benjen would have felt more comfortable making his objections clearer and louder, but with Stannis, Benjen had learned to guard his tongue, careful never to be seen overtly defying or even questioning Stannis’ command. As Benjen grew into a man, the whispers grew louder among some in the North that it should have been the last living son of Rickard Stark being made Lord Protector of the North until Robb Stark came of age, not some southern lord who just happened to be the king’s brother.

“Stannis should have let me join the Night’s Watch,” Benjen commiserated with Maester Luwin more than once.

“You know his reasons for refusing,” Luwin said, “and those reasons strike me as very reasonable.”

“In his place, Maester, would you rather not have a pesky rival dispatched far, far away to the Wall, where he could not do any damage?” Benjen asked.

Maester Luwin regarded Benjen steadily. “Are you setting yourself up as a rival to Lord Stannis?”

“Of course not!” Benjen exclaimed, frustrated. “But Stannis might think that I am.”

“Has he given you any cause to believe that he suspects you of trying to usurp his position?”

Benjen considered the question. Stannis was not an easy man to know, much less to get close to, true, but his behavior towards Benjen had never been anything less than correct. He had made full use of Benjen’s knowledge of the North. Stannis had even trusted Benjen enough to send him to resolve some trouble or dispute between neighboring lords or knights, usually in the company of Davos Seaworth. Benjen had grown very fond of the onion knight, a warm, companionable man whose former life as a smuggler seemed utterly fascinating and improbable at the same time.

In truth, there was nothing Benjen could point to in Stannis’ conduct that would confirm his worst fear – that Stannis would grow to actively resent Benjen’s presence at Winterfell, would become suspicious of Benjen’s intention.

Still, when Stannis commanded Benjen to stay at Winterfell while he rode off to deal with Balon Greyjoy, Benjen could not help wondering if Stannis _did_ suspect him of something after all. Or if perhaps, resenting the clamors for Benjen to be made Lord Protector of the North, Stannis decided that Benjen must be kept away from any possibility of victory and glory.

Oh it was such an unworthy thought for him to have, Benjen chastised himself, and yet, part of him still wondered. He told no one about these thoughts, not even Maester Luwin.

The day Stannis was due to depart from Winterfell, Benjen was summoned to see him in the early hours of the morning. “Lord Stannis is in Lord Robb’s room, my lord,” Stannis’ squire told him, when Benjen made his way to the solar. Robb and Jon shared a bedchamber, for now at least. Benjen supposed they would have to be separated once Robb was old enough to really understand his position as Lord of Winterfell.

The boys were still asleep, safe and snug under the blanket. Stannis stood silent and unmoving at the foot of the bed. He did not turn to look at Benjen when he heard the footsteps entering the room. “You must stay at Winterfell,” Stannis said, his voice barely audible.

“I understand,” Benjen replied. Benjen begrudged the reminder a little bit, truth be told. Stannis had already made his wishes clear on the matter, and Benjen had no intention of defying him.

Stannis turned to face Benjen. “Do you, truly?”

Benjen said nothing.

“I was angry when Robert told me to stay at Storm’s End,” Stannis continued. “He’s punishing me, I thought, and I resented that. Punishing me because I dared to argue with him about our duty and loyalty to the king. ‘ _You would choose a mad king over your own brother?’_ Robert raged at the time.”

It would never have occurred to Benjen to argue with Ned about their duty or loyalty to the king when Ned came home to call the banners. Then again, Stannis had not lost any family members to the Mad King’s brutality. “But you _did_ choose your brother after all,” Benjen said, a statement that was almost a question.

“I chose Robert, yes, my flesh and blood. But it was not an easy decision,” Stannis said.

Benjen suppressed a gasp, but Stannis must have heard it anyway. “You think me callous and unfeeling?”

“It’s not for me to judge,” Benjen replied, averting Stannis’ gaze. “Was it really a punishment, commanding you to stay at Storm’s End while they went to fight the Mad King?”

_Is it a punishment, commanding me to stay at Winterfell now?_

Stannis shook his head. “Robert had the right of it, at least that time. He’s punished me unjustly for other things since, but that time, Robert was right. Tyrell and Redwyne forces started besieging us soon after Robert left. Storm’s End would have fallen if I had followed Robert to war.”

“Balon Greyjoy is not going to send anyone to attack Winterfell,” Benjen said. “He will be more than preoccupied defending the Iron Islands, defending his own turf.”

“No one knows that for certain,” Stannis snapped. “Who could tell what a man reckless enough to declare himself King would dare to do? I can’t risk it. We can’t risk it.” He paused. “This is not a punishment, Benjen.”

“I never thought –“ Benjen started.

“Don’t lie,” Stannis interrupted. “You don’t have the face for it.”

How could Stannis have known, or even suspected, when Benjen had told no one, no one at all?

“How can I blame you, when I once thought the same?” Stannis continued. “They don’t sing songs of glory for the ones who stayed behind, but it does not make the task any easier, or any less worthy. It’s not just a castle you’re protecting, or its lord, but the people, a way of life.”

The boys were stirring. “Father,” Jon called out sleepily, eyes at half-mast, holding out his arms towards Benjen.  

“Father,” Robb echoed, looking at Stannis. Ordinarily, Stannis would be adamant about correcting the boy – “ _Uncle Stannis. Your father is Eddard Stark, who was the Lord of Winterfell before you, and you must always remember that_ ”- but this time, the morning of his departure, Stannis said nothing to correct Robb.

“Are you leaving now?” Robb asked, trying to sound brave.

“Soon,” Stannis replied.

“Uncle Benjen will stay here?”

“Yes, he will.”

“I will pray for you in the godswood every day, and remind Mother to lit candles in the sept every night,” Robb promised, with all the earnestness of a five-year-old.

Benjen watched as Stannis struggled to erase the look of distaste on his face. Any mention of god, the old ones or the new, was sure to annoy him, but Stannis knew well enough that the Lord of Winterfell must be raised believing in the old god like the people he would be ruling. “Thank you,” Stannis said, stiff and formal. But his expression softened when Robb solemnly proclaimed, “And I’m going to look after Sansa and Shireen.”

After a few years of marriage, and endless speculations about the state of their marriage, Stannis and Catelyn were finally blessed with children. Two daughters in two years, in fact, and Catelyn was now heavy with child again. “ _Let it be another daughter_ ,” Benjen knew some northern lords were praying in the godswood at this very moment. Sons, and therefore half-brothers to Robb Stark could prove a threat to their own position, should Robb decide to reward his half-brothers with land and titles once he was old enough to rule Winterfell on his own. Sons could prove to be a danger to Robb himself, should Stannis began to harbor unseemly ambition about his own sons, his blood instead of Ned Stark’s. Daughters would leave home once they were married, and thus was seen as less of a threat. Granted, there were some who would prefer it if Stannis and Catelyn had no children at all.

The only time Benjen had seen Stannis lighting candles in the sept that Ned had built for Catelyn had been the time Shireen was deathly ill with greyscale soon after she was born. Even then, Stannis’ demeanor had not seemed like a father praying for the life of his child, but like a man forced to make a deal with the gods he despised. Whatever the deal was, it must not have included Stannis continuing to worship the Seven, for Benjen never saw Stannis in the sept again after that.  

“I’m going to say goodbye to the girls,” Stannis said, making to leave the boys’ room.

“Can I come with you?” Robb asked, already on his feet.

“Why? You’re not going anywhere,” Stannis replied, but when he saw the crestfallen look on Robb’s face, he gruffly said, “Come on, then. We don’t have all day.”

Robb smiled and bounded over to Stannis’ side, and they walked side by side into the nursery. From the open door, Benjen could hear Catelyn’s voice soothing a crying Shireen while Stannis said something to their elder daughter Sansa as if he was speaking to a fully-grown person (as was his wont when talking to children, for Stannis didn’t seem to consider children, or even babies and toddlers, a species apart from adults).

And suddenly, Benjen was struck by a sharp, piercing pain deep in his heart, thinking about Ned.

_Oh Ned!_

“Father?”

His son was calling out for him, his son who was not really his but was actually Ned’s, and thus was very, very precious to Benjen. He embraced Jon tightly, and the two of them sat silently for a little while, before Benjen finally took Jon to join the others in the nursery, and it started to seem like a morning just like any other morning.  

Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to ohmytheon who inspired me to write this with the amazing Stannis/Catelyn fics : ) : )


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